


Cups and Saucerers

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthropomorphised Dragons, Bad Puns, Baked Goods Of Many Varieties Getting Abused In The Line Of Duty, Bawdy Humour, Bittersweet, Character Death Fix, College, Dragons, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Post 5.13, Scones, Tea, Terminal Illnesses, The Fabric Of The Universe Was Not Damaged In The Making Of This Fic, This Was Going To Be Gen But Author Couldn't Help It, Time Travel, Unsafe Sex, Well it's not really unsafe if one of you is an immortal warlock with power over viruses is it?, cakes, dragons in disguise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 36,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2014. Merlin is disguised as a humble tea-shop owner. He  despairs when he discovers that Arthur has already returned and died again. Arthur’s sister Morgan is wrongly imprisoned for his murder. Meanwhile Britain teeters on the brink of catastrophe. Can Merlin devise a time-travel spell to avert Arthur’s death and save his country without causing even more dreadful consequences? </p><p>Post 5.13 reincarnation time-travel fic. Featuring time-travelling Merlin, tea shops, Kid!Arthur, Adult!Arthur, Merthur, an econopocalypse and some anthropomorphised dragons. (Is anthropomorphised a word?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've modernised some characters' names, but hopefully their personalities should shine through. Eternal thanks go to the wonderful archaeologist_d for the thorough and insightful Beta. THANK YOU! Any remaining errors or inconsistencies are my fault entirely, I can't resist fiddling with the text. I mean editing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I’m doing this for love, not money. I don’t own these characters, and they don’t owe me a penny.

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. Monday 2nd June 2014. Time: 11.14am._  
  
“Merlin, you idiot!” Guy lowered his newspaper to yell at the purposeful-looking young man whom he had just spotted entering the tea shop. “You agreed, no more time travel! What are you doing here? It’s incredibly dangerous. If the other ‘you’ comes through that door….” He waved a hand towards a hatch which led to the kitchen of the tiny tea shop. “…well, put it this way, I’m not resuscitating you again! Plus that’s already the third time you’ve time-travelled back to this week. You’ll make yourself ill, you foolish boy. Surely you remember how risky it is jumping back in time when you know you might catch yourself…” When he’d been younger Guy would have risen to his feet and thumped his hands on the table. Now, at his advanced age, he contented himself with raising a furious eyebrow.   
  
Guy could get away with calling Merlin a boy, these days. Even though Merlin was vastly older than him, he still appeared like a vigorous young man in his twenties—except when it suited him, of course. Whereas Guy… well, let’s face it, Guy had never been a pin-up, but these days he admitted to himself that perhaps he should have stopped keeping his white hair long when it started to thin out on top.  
  
Muffled sounds of cutlery and crockery could be heard through the hatch, together with under-breath mutterings and curses. Deep inside the kitchen, an out-of-tune tenor voice started to sing, “It’s a f…f…freaky SHO...O...O...O...W!” 

Merlin, wild-eyed, ignored Guy’s tirade and hurried up to him. He looked different; his hair was longer and he had a 3-day beard. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that proclaimed “Thought is Free”. Guy recognised the T-shirt with a quote from "The Tempest"; he’d bought it for Merlin at The Globe the previous year.  
  
“Guy, this is really important,” Merlin cried, face anguished, “Listen to me.” 

It was lucky that there was no-one else in the tea-shop at the moment. With all the economic problems London was facing—not to mention the riots, incoming Prime Minister Reid’s introduction of martial law, and the rumoured pogroms against suspected debtors—trade had fallen off of late.  
  
Guy sighed. “What is it this time?”  
  
“When I come out of that kitchen,” he waggled his finger towards the hatch, “you mustn’t let Drake tell me straight away.  Wait til I have served tea!” 

“Let Drake tell you what?” said Guy, puzzled.

At that moment, Drake entered the room, the bell above the door tinkling. He was a dark-skinned man of indeterminate age, with world-weary, reptilian eyes. He strode over, motorcycle leathers creaking, and looked round the room, taking in Guy, Merlin dressed in his non-work attire, and the strikingly pale, willowy figure of Linda at the till. Drake winked at Linda, who stared back at him unblinkingly and then flashed him a coquettish smile.

“Cups and Saucerers” was a tiny, old-fashioned Clerkenwell oasis amid the hurly-burly of London life. The owner called himself Merrill, but was known as Merlin to his close friends. Most of his customers thought he was a harmless eccentric. Only a very small number of living people – three to be precise – knew how far from harmless he really was.

Drake opened his mouth, but Merlin shushed him.

“Drake! Don’t tell me—him—that Arthur’s dead. Not yet. Don’t tell me—him—when I—he—comes out of that door.” He pointed a trembling index finger at the hatch again, raising two earnest eyebrows to emphasise his point. “It’s really important. Wait til I’ve served tea, then tell him. Me.”

“Merlin, I…,” Drake began.

“Shush! Listen,” said Merlin, one eye on the kitchen hatch. Behind it, someone was singing “Look at those cavemen go!” tunelessly at the top of his voice. “Listen, I don’t want me—him—to drop the teapot. It was a present from Albert Einstein, and… and… Kylie has drunk tea from those cups! So, wait til I—he—puts it down, and then tell me—him, but not before, OK? It’s Coalport! Look, he’s coming – me, I mean, I’m coming - I’ve got to go. Remember, it’s important. Not a word til the teapot is safe. Oh, and I just wanted to do this.”

He leaned forward and hugged Guy hard. When he drew back, his eyes seemed to shine with unshed tears and he gulped. “Guy, I—there’s something you should know, about the future, about your health, you have to see a doc—“ he began, but Guy cut him off by placing a hand across his mouth, “Merlin! I absolutely forbid you from telling me anything about my future,” he said, “There are some things better left unsaid. Now,” he continued, releasing Merlin’s mouth, waving a piece of paper and checking his watch. “You’d better tell me where you’ve come back from, and I’ll fill in a docket so you don’t forget to do the jump.”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Merlin, breathlessly. “Monday 3nd November, 2014. 12.02pm. Got that? Oh, and tell him he’s got four months. To fix it.” 

At that moment, there was a thud and the door with the hatch began to open.

 “Tell who? Who’s got four months? To fix what?” shouted Guy, frowning, but “future” Merlin’s blue eyes flashed golden for a second, and without warning he vanished, no doubt returning to his grey future November lunchtime. Guy blinked and muttered under his breath.

The kitchen hatch door opened. A stubble-free version of Merlin reversed out, sporting short, neat, hair, and dressed in his waiter’s outfit—black trousers, white shirt, bow tie and apron. He was carefully carrying a Coalport china teapot and 3 matching cups out on a tray, humming “Is There Life on Mars,” under his breath.

Guy was getting too old for this. He shook his head to clear it.

“What’s up, folks? You look a bit disturbed,” said this neat-haired, clean-shaven Merlin.

Drake cleared his throat. “I’ve got news,” he began, but Guy silenced him with a shake of his head and beckoned a suddenly wary-looking Merlin over.

“News?” he whispered, and Guy winced inwardly at the hope in Merlin’s eyes. “About Arthur?”

Guy exchanged a look with Drake. But they didn’t speak until Merlin  put the tray down, carefully setting the tea pot and cups on the table.  
  
“I have found Arthur, Merlin,” Drake said.  
  
A radiant smile lit Merlin’s face. His eyes disappeared amid the crinkles. “That’s brilliant!” he said, clapping his hands. But Drake shook his head, and Guy felt a terrible compassion.  
  
“I’m really sorry, Merlin,” Drake said, holding up a hand. “Arthur—he died. He’s been dead for ten years.”  
  
“Dead?” Merlin whispered, the hope fleeing from his face as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by an awful bewilderment. “No! He can’t be dead, not again!” His eyes were unnaturally bright; his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed. “No,” he whispered again, “I can’t wait any more, I can’t do this….”  
  
His face crumpled and he fell to the floor, head hitting the table with a thump. 

Guy grimaced. _That’s going to come up in a great lump_ , he thought, bending a rheumatic knee to touch his old friend’s wounded head with a gnarled thumb. He wished he could stroke away the anguish, but he knew the emotional wound was too deep and too ancient for him to heal.  
  
“Merlin,” Guy said. “My dear, dear friend. I know how long you have waited. I’m so sorry we couldn’t find him in time.” 

Merlin struggled upright again, and Guy  pulled him in for a hug.

Tendrils of steam emerged from the spout of the forgotten, but undamaged teapot.  
  
Later, when Merlin had disappeared back into the kitchen, Guy returned his attention to the piece of paper in his hand, and rummaged in his bag for an envelope. From past experience he knew to carry these wherever he went. The paper contained a few lines of pre-written text headings. Guy proceeded to fill this template in, using precise, neat handwriting:  
  
 _“ **Destination:**  Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London._  
  
 ** _Destination Date:_** _Monday 2_ _nd_ _June 2014._

 **_Destination Time:_ **  
_11.14am._ ****

**_Duration of jump:_ **  
_2 minutes._

**_Purpose of jump:_ **  
_to rescue (Einstein! Kylie!) Coalport teapot from certain disaster, and give my long-suffering friend Guy a hug._ ****

**_Details:_ **  
_Drake is about to deliver bad news: Arthur died ten years ago. Don’t let Drake deliver this news before (past) Merlin has put the teapot down on the table, or the teapot will cop it._ ****

**_Other notes:_**  
 _Merlin, you idiot, I hope you know what you are doing. Guy.”_  

Guy folded the piece of paper and placed it into a sealed envelope. He wrote down  _“Time of jump: Monday 3_ _nd_ _November, 2014, 12.02pm”_   on the outside of the envelope.  When Merlin returned from the kitchen, he handed over the sealed envelope. 

“Another one?” said Merlin, in a surprised tone, tears drying on his cheek. “Busy week.” He looked thoughtful. “Lots of time travel…” his speech tailed off and he stared out of the window onto the rainy street.

Guy groaned; he could almost hear the cogs whirring in Merlin’s head. It was clear to him what Merlin was going to do. He was going to go back in time and try to fix it. No doubt this would cause all sorts of dangerous time-travel paradoxes, and Guy would end up having to pick up the pieces, as usual.

Guy buried his poor, aching forehead in his hands. His headaches had been getting worse lately. It must be the stress of worrying about Merlin’s scatter-brained plans.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Merrill?” said Arthur, “can one person exist in two places at once?”
> 
> “Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Morgan. But Merrill wasn’t a meanie (like Arthur’s sister was), and he paused to consider the question.
> 
> “I don’t think so,” said Merrill, head on one side like a bird, “unless he or she has mastered the art of time travel, of course.”
> 
> “Is that what you do, then?” said Arthur. “Time travel?”

_Twenty years earlier…_

~#~

 _Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. Wednesday 1_ _ st_ _June 1994. Time: 2.32pm._

 

Arthur, one sweaty hand in his father’s, the other clutching his new toy, had had enough of being dragged round London with his older sister.

“Father,” he said, “the King is tired now and he wishes to have a large slice of chocolate cake.” He offered up the toy, a small plastic figure of a medieval king clutching a sword and shield, as evidence.

“The King is a greedy little monster and will get fat,” stated Arthur’s obnoxious half-sister, Morgan, who stood on his father’s other side, pouting. She’d recently discovered boys, and was wearing loads of make-up. Arthur thought she looked like a green-eyed panda.

“Is not!” said Arthur. Too tired to think of a clever reply, he reached round to pull her hair.

“Is too!” retorted Morgan. “Ow! You obnoxious little shit, that hurt!”

“Language, Morgan!” bellowed their father.

Arthur could see a little tea shop. He stopped outside, tugging his father’s hand.

“Please, Father,” he said in his most polite voice, smirking because Morgana had said the “s” word, which meant she was going to have to put 50p in the swear box when they got back to Edinburgh, “may we possibly stop and have a snack?” Arthur looked at the sign. “Cups and Saucerers,” he read out loud. “Hey, that’s the same as the shop in Edinburgh! It must be a new chain. Father, please can we go in?”

Theo Pentagon stopped outside the tea shop and smiled at his son. “Very well, Arthur, you have been very patient.”

Morgan tsked, but didn’t protest too much as Theo pushed open the door and they stepped inside.

A familiar-looking tall, dark-haired man was wiping down the tables; he flashed a blinding grin at Arthur and his father. A woman Arthur hadn’t seen before stood behind the till, gazing at him. She had long, glossy white hair and wore a white leather dress. Her eyes were green, like Morgy’s. She stared at him without blinking; it made his eyes water.

The black-haired man whipped his notebook out to take their order.

“Good morning!” he said. “Welcome to ‘ _Cups and Saucerers_ ’. My name is Merrill, I’m the chief ‘saucerer’. What delicious magical treats can I conjure for you today?”

 

Merrill had long fingers, and he splayed them as if casting a spell. He was old, of course, more than 20 probably, but not as ancient as Father, and he had the right sort of pointy ears and twinkly eyes for a magician. Arthur grinned happily at him, and Merrill winked back.

He was just like the man in the Edinburgh shop, who was called Merrill, too.

“I’ll have a pot of tea, please,” said Theo. “Milk for the children.”

Morgy frowned at Father; she was still only 12, but thought she was all grown up. Arthur didn’t mind having milk, as long as he could have a large slice of the gooey chocolate cake on the counter.

“Can I have a slice of chocolate cake, as well, please?” he said. “And a boiled egg with shouldiers.”

“Soldiers, not shouldiers, idiot,” said his oh-so-superior sister. Honestly, she was only two years older than him, but sometimes she acted like she was 18, not 12. Arthur gave her his grumpiest grumpy face; Merrill laughed.

While they were waiting for their order, Theo looked at the paper and Morgan leafed through her silly magazine, which had lots of pictures of boys on it.

“The King thinks _Take That!_ are stupid,” said Arthur. “Stupidy stupidy stupidy,” he continued in a sing-song voice. “Robbie is a big fat poo, Jason and Mark are stupid too, Gary got stuck on the loo, Howard’s thick and so are you.” Arthur’s toy King engaged the pepperpot in a lively battle while he sang, until Morgy screamed at him to shut up, and Father barked at him to stop. Arthur adopted his best mutinous expression and stuck his tongue out.

A really old man came into the shop then, and sat down. He had long, straggly grey hair and looked absolutely ancient, even older than Father, maybe even as old as 50! When he came in, the door made a tinkly sound like magical Disney wizards did

“I’ll be with you in a minute, Guy,” said the waiter to the new customer, waltzing in with a tray of goodies, and setting them down before Arthur’s family on the table. He looked at Arthur sympathetically, and crouched down next to him as he placed a plate of strips of toast (soldiers) and an immaculate boiled egg,with its lid off, in front of him.

 “Hope you enjoy your soldiers,” the waiter said. “Here they are all lined up in ranks.” He’d placed the soldiers all in a row. One of them was by itself.

“That one’s the king,” said Merrill, and his bright blue eyes flashed at Arthur when he smiled. When Merrill turned to Morgy, he placed a delicious-looking raspberry cheesecake in front of her, and leaned in to whisper, “Howard’s my favourite, but I like Robbie too.” He winked at her. Morgy smiled at him, fluttering her lashes.

Arthur liked this tea shop nearly as much as the one in Edinburgh. Not only was the waiter magic, but there were all sorts of interesting pictures on the walls: of castles, dragons, battles, magicians, and armour. A tempting, chocolatey aroma pervaded the room. There was no music playing, but the waiter hummed all the time.

“Eat your egg before it gets cold,” Theo commanded.

“Charge!” Arthur cried, a full-throated battle cry, picking up the ‘king’ soldier, and plunging it into the amber egg-yolk. All the other soldiers followed suit. Arthur crammed them into his mouth, and then scooped out the rest of the egg with a teaspoon, licking the yolk off his lips, before devouring the cake with great enthusiasm.

When Merrill came back to clear everything away, Arthur was proud that there was not a crumb left. Merrill smiled approvingly. Arthur was curious about Merrill and his Scottish counterpart, who looked exactly the same. Maybe they were twins? But why would twins have the same name?

When the time came to leave, Father hailed a cab outside. Arthur lingered inside, his curiosity tugging him back to Merrill. Morgan pulled at his hand but he resisted, staying in the doorway for a moment.

“Merrill?” said Arthur, at last, half in and half out, “Can one person exist in two places at once?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Morgan. But Merrill wasn’t a meanie (like Arthur’s sister was), and he paused to consider the question.

“I don’t think so,” said Merrill, holding the door open, his head tilted to one side like a bird, “unless he or she has mastered the art of time travel, of course.”

“Is that what you do, then?” said Arthur. “Time travel?”

Merrill looked a bit taken aback for a second, but then he leaned over towards Arthur. “I could tell you about that if you like,” he said, dead-panning, “but then I’d have to shoot you.” He held Arthur’s gaze for a couple of seconds, and then suddenly broke into an infectious laugh. Arthur laughed, too.

But then there was Father’s voice outside.

“ARTHUR! COME ON!” he yelled. He and Morgan were already waiting in the cab; he was calling Arthur through the door. Arthur ran to him and got inside, tugging the door closed.

Merrill stood in the doorway, pale all of a sudden, and a bit sad, and his mouth was hanging open, as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Arthur?” his mouth said, although Arthur couldn’t hear it now, because the door was slammed behind him and the cab started moving. He waved at Merrill through the window, and it looked like Merrill was trying to follow the cab, which was silly, because the cab was moving really fast now, and Merrill was just running, shouting his name, and everyone knows you can’t catch a car on foot, even in London which has horrible traffic. And anyway, if Merrill wanted to say something, his twin brother or something could tell him next time Arthur went into the shop in Edinburgh.

Then a big lorry obscured Arthur’s view, so he couldn’t see Merrill any more. He settled back into his chair, putting on his seatbelt, clutching his toy king all the while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Guy ask a private investigator to look into Arthur's whereabouts. He turns out to have secrets of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to look for him. There can’t be many kids that age called Arthur in London. He’s smart – and funny…” Merlin looked up at Guy, “he recognised me, Guy! He asked me if I was in two places at once. I told him someone could if they could time travel, and he asked me if that was what I did!”
> 
> Merlin laughed, a wide-mouthed, triumphant smile illuminating his face. Guy’s heart sank. He could guess where Merlin’s train of thought was headed, and feared for the consequences.

_A day later…_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. Thursday 2nd June 1994. Time: 3.45pm._

Guy had been coming to Cups and Sorcerers since he was a beatnik in the early 60s. He’d fallen in love with the owner, a beautiful woman named Marilyn, who had cascades of unruly black hair, and eyes like the sea on a summer’s day. But it was her smile that captivated Guy—her smile, which hid an air of sadness that made him want to protect her and make her happy. They’d had a brief but intense relationship before Marilyn confessed that she was a bit fed up of being a woman, and asked if it would be all right if she turned back into her normal form. Guy had said yes, he wasn’t fussy about gender, it was Marilyn he loved. And so Marilyn turned back into Merlin, and Guy’s feelings remained the same.

They’d spent the 60s as a closeted gay couple, but since about 1970, their relationship had just been platonic although Guy still loved Merlin unreservedly. Only he and Linda knew Merlin’s real identity, real age and real, ancient heartbreak. Guy felt truly privileged at that precious trust. After all, Linda was not exactly human – more reptilian, really – and not really an adult yet, by the reckoning of her kind.

When Guy pottered into the tea shop that morning, Merlin was bustling around, serving several customers at once with his customary breezy cheerfulness; Linda stood behind the till, as usual, her expression calm and unreadable.

Guy could see the cracks in Merlin’s armour; he knew him well enough after all these years. When there was a lull, Merlin simply turned the “Open” sign to “Closed” on the door, crossed over to Guy’s table, and sat down, burying his black curls in his hands. Linda disappeared into the kitchen; Guy waited.

“I didn’t realise he’d come back as a child,” Merlin said, eventually. “I’m such an idiot. I assumed, after all this time, that he’d somehow come back just the same as he was, that he’d be wearing his armour and yelling at me and throwing… throwing… I don’t know, shoes, and cups, and rotten fruit, and pouting at me, and then looking at me with those clear eyes that could prise open my soul…” His face was pinched and haunted. “I’m so STUPID, it was HIM, it was Arthur, he just walked out, and I didn’t stop him, I’m such an idiot, Guy!”

Guy gazed at the ceiling, eyebrows raised, waiting for Merlin to continue.

“I’m going to look for him. There can’t be many kids that age called Arthur in London. He’s smart – and funny…” Merlin looked up at Guy, “he recognised me, Guy! He asked me if I was in two places at once. I told him someone could if they could time travel, and he asked me if that was what I did!”

Merlin laughed, a wide-mouthed, triumphant smile illuminating his face. Guy’s heart sank. He could guess where Merlin’s train of thought was headed, and feared for the consequences.

“That’s what a future me must be going to do! I’m going to work out how to travel back in time, and I’m watching over him now! That’s what I’ve got to do, Guy! I’ve got to work out how to travel backwards in time, and then I can watch over him. It’s my destiny Guy!”

And there it was. It was predictable, but Guy didn’t have to like it. He sighed, casting around for the right words. “You must do what you feel is right, Merlin,” he said, eventually, when it became clear that Merlin was waiting for his approval. He’d learned, over the years, to be noncommittal about Merlin’s crazy schemes. But, to go along with it for a while, and because he loved Merlin, truly, and wanted him to be happy, Guy suggested that he should call Drake.

~#~

Drake was a private investigator; he had secrets of his own, and was very good at finding out other people's. It was his destiny to become entangled with Merlin; he had foreseen some of the complications which would arise with the child Arthur. Time travel was a tricky thing; Merlin would need to keep his wits about him to avoid getting stuck in an interminable loop.

But Drake’s second sight had not prepared him fully for his first visit to Cups and Saucerers. The warlock, he immediately identified—he had seen him in visions. The physician he already knew. But the white-haired, pale-skinned dragon-girl who stood behind the counter was a complete shock. He stood for a moment, dumbfounded, before striding over to the counter where he feasted his eyes upon her, his tongue unconsciously flicking in and out. She stared back at him, unblinking; Drake shivered under her gaze. He had never realised there was another of his kind alive; he wondered when she had hatched, of what lineage. Hope and dangerous heat bloomed under his skin.

The warlock put his hand on Drake’s arm and said, in a warning tone, “Linda is young, she is in my care, and she is not ready, you will not touch her. Linda, leave us please. ”

Although Merlin looked young, Drake sensed his great age; although he was soft spoken, Drake was compelled to comply with his directions. The note of command in his voice was insistent. Clearly Merlin was also a dragonlord; his authority over Drake was instant and absolute.

Linda dropped her luminous gaze from Drake and turned her back, striding through the hatch-topped door into the kitchen. Drake followed her retreating back with wide eyes. His temperature dropped and the tension left his body as she left the room.

Guy seemed to be the only one who did not fully comprehend the charged atmosphere. His gaze was flicking back and forth between Drake and Merlin, puzzled. Drake nodded and pulled up a chair, and the three men sat down. 

Drake drew a notebook from his bag and began to write.

“There’s not much to go on,” he said, “You think he is about ten years old, so I will start by investigating boys registered in the U.K. with the name Arthur between 1982 and 1986. Obviously it is going to be difficult to narrow things down if all you know is his approximate age and hair colour. We have to accept that he may have been born overseas.”

Merlin sighed. “There was a girl, as well, slightly older, and they were with a father, but I don’t know their names,” he said, looking frustrated. “See what you can do. Please keep me abreast of any developments.”

Drake’s tongue flicked out again when he said. “How can I contact you? Do you have email?”

Merlin shook his head. “Electronics do not work near me,” he said. “I’m a bit magic, you see,” he smiled, wiggling his fingers as if joking, but Drake knew that he told the truth.  “Best to send me letters, or drop into the tea shop. The phone is not very reliable in my presence either.”

Merlin’s smile was sad, as if he had little hope that the search would work. So Drake leaned forward, covering Merlin’s hand with his own.

“You will find him, Merlin,” Drake said. “I have foreseen it. It will be difficult, but it is your destiny.” Merlin huffed a mirthless laugh at that. “You will find him, and you will travel back in time to be at his side, where you belong.”

The warlock held his gaze. Drake sensed an unfathomable grief in those ancient eyes, and although it was warm, he shivered for the second time today.

Drake turned to take his leave. “I will be in touch. Thank you for your hospitality,” he said formally. “Please give my regards to…,” his voice faltered, then, as he turned back towards the kitchen door, where he could see Linda peering at him through the hatch.

“Keep away from her, Drake, she is not ready,” Merlin warned, again. Drake hissed and swallowed, heat thrumming in his throat, the webbing between his fingers beginning to itch. He stepped through the door into the warm, sunlit Clerkenwell street.

~#~

Later that afternoon, Guy was alone in the tea shop, sipping a delicate “Lapsang Souchong” as he read _The Guardian_ , when Merlin stepped through the door, eyes whirling, gold mixed in with the normal blue. Merlin also stepped out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of biscuits. The two Merlins mirrored each other’s stunned expressions.

“Oh shit,” said ‘biscuit’ Merlin, dropping the tray.

“I did it!” said ‘door’ Merlin, punching the air in triumph and then vanishing with an audible ‘pop’.. ‘Biscuit’ Merlin’s legs collapsed under him and he smashed to the floor in a flurry of crumbs. It took Guy several minutes to revive his friend, and really it was only his medical training that allowed him to do so. He had never felt more relieved in his long, eventful life than when the numbskull finally coughed and sat up, wincing and clutching at his head.

He was in annoyingly good spirits for a man who had just had a near-death experience, caused by the dangerous proximity of his own time-travelling future self.

“You know what this means, Guy?” he said, manic grin plastered across his pale face.

“Sadly, yes,” said Guy, frowning. “It means you are even more of an idiot than I gave you credit for.”

Merlin looked puzzled. “Don’t be silly! It’s amazing! I’m a time traveler now! ‘Future me’ has worked out how to do it!”

Guy thought long and hard about this and buried his head in his hands, groaning, his head throbbing. Merlin was really a wonderful friend, kind and generous to a fault, and Guy loved him with all his heart, but this ability to tie Guy’s head in knots was one of Merlin's more unwelcome attributes.

Guy shook his head. He’d probably end up going along with it, but knew he’d regret it in the end.

Merlin’s face fell again.

“It’s all academic at the moment, anyway,” he said. “Because right now I haven't got a clue how to do it.”

 _Long may that continue,_ thought Guy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake has located Arthur. But how will Merlin get near to him?

_Two years later…_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Clerkenwell, London. Thursday 25th April 1996 Time: 10.22am._

“Edinburgh?” said Merlin, looking confused.

Drake nodded as he devoured a slice of banana loaf. The café was busy that morning; chatter, clattering teaspoons and appreciative munching noises filled the air. “Yes. Name’s Theo Pentagon,” Drake mumbled, his mouth full. “Two kids, Arthur and Morgan.” He shovelled in another heavenly forkful. Merlin’s banana cake was legendary, just the right amount of moistness, sweet without being cloying. He washed it down with a pot of Darjeeling, served in a china cup and saucer with a delicate rose motif. Mopping his mouth with a napkin, he bent to draw a packet out of his satchel.

“Linda,” said Merlin. “Please, can you serve for a moment?” Linda nodded. Merlin drew up a chair and sat opposite Drake. Drake followed the movement of Linda’s head. A spike of longing stabbed him, and he felt his temperature begin to rise.

Merlin must have seen him watching.  “Not yet, Drake,” he said with a hint of warning in his voice. “You’ve got a few more years yet. Now, show me what you have got.”

Drake shook his head, returning to the present, and opened the packet. He pushed two photographs across the table to Merlin.

“Arthur Pentagon,” he said, pointing to the first. It was a photograph of an exuberant-looking blond-haired boy, dressed in football strip. “He’s a bright kid; just turned 12, plays football for his school.” Merlin gazed at the photograph as if memorising it, and swallowed, his eyes shining.

“That’s him,” he whispered, not meeting Drake’s eyes.

“There’s more,” said Drake, pushing another photograph across the table. A dark-haired girl in her mid-teens, permanent scowl fixed to her face, stood next to a tall, stern-faced man in his fifties. The girl’s hair was dyed and back-combed, her eyes outlined in kohl; she wore black clothes with artfully added black accessories, rips and rents. The man bore the heavy air of bemused outrage that Drake had often observed in fathers of teenage girls. “The sister, Morgan, is 14; she is going through a rebellious phase, I think. The father, Theo, is a professor of medieval history at Edinburgh University. The mother died in childbirth. Pentagon senior has had a string of subsequent relationships but nothing permanent.”

Merlin stood and stretched, shirt pulling up out of his trousers and then rucking around his thin waist when he relaxed. “Thank you, Drake,” he said in a shaky voice, walking across to the counter. “Linda, I am going to have to leave you in charge for a bit. I’m just going to make a phone call. Drake, keep an eye on her for a minute? Be careful.”

And he stepped into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea-towel. The door banged closed behind him. Drake heard the click of the telephone receiver being lifted, overheard one side of a swift telephone conversation.

He regarded Linda for a moment; shivering with longing, he stepped across to her, fighting a desire to touch her wrist. She returned his unblinking gaze. Her pale eyes and almost white hair did not disguise her youth. Drake was lost in her beauty and his hand involuntarily strayed towards hers. He sprang back when her lips parted and she spoke.

“Don’t” she said, rosebud lips curving up in a beguiling, one-sided smile. “Not yet.”

He found his chest heaving, blood beginning to boil under the surface, heat rising in his gut. Tendrils of steam emerged gently from one of his nostrils. Honestly, he was behaving like an immature firedrake.

Merlin chose that moment to return from the kitchen, holding a notebook and some envelopes. “I called Guy,” he said. “He’ll be here in a minute.” He looked closely at Drake. “Hey, cool down!”

Drake glared at Merlin but felt his pulse settle in response to Merlin’s voice. 

Merlin and Linda continued serving customers until Guy came in about half an hour later. It was a busy time of day; Drake and Linda were roped in to wait on customers while Guy and Merlin went into a huddle to discuss the implications of Arthur’s sudden appearance. Drake didn’t’ mind helping out at the tea shop. It was worth it for the opportunity to spend time with Linda—plus the banana cake, of course.

When there was a momentary lull, Guy beckoned Drake and Linda over. “I’ve finally managed to invent a time-travel spell,” Merlin said in a low voice, “and I want to try it out.”

~#~

Guy tried his best to talk Merlin out of it, but Merlin was determined. “I know I’m going to do it,” he pointed out. “Because I’ve seen the evidence.”

“But you don’t know whether you survive the experience, Merlin, you would be incredibly foolish to go ahead with it.”

But Merlin’s mouth was set in a stubborn line, and looking around the empty coffee shop he strode to the door and turned the sign hanging on it round so that it appeared “CLOSED” to the outside world. Guy sighed and massaged his forehead. Merlin began to chant and his eyes flashed gold.

And so it was that, with three witnesses, Merlin vanished on the threshold of “Cups and Saucerers” and reappeared moments later, with one of his most ridiculous grins splitting his face. But then he fell senseless to the floor. Guy sighed and stooped to revive his friend.

“I’m getting too old for this Merlin, you utter idiot,” he said when, after several minutes, his friend finally regained consciousness.  

“Right,” said Merlin, sitting up. “We have established that it is too dangerous to jump back to a location and time where I know I will be. I must not encounter myself without both versions having a medical expert on hand to revive me.”

“Well, you’d better find yourself another ‘medical expert’ because if you ever do that to me again, I’ll leave you to rot. I mean it, so think again!” Guy scowled at Merlin’s wounded expression. Honestly, it never ceased to amaze him how innocent a damn-near-1600-year-old sorcerer could make himself look. “And don’t look at me like that, you manipulative sod!” He deepened his frown at Merlin’s answering pout.

Merlin sulked for a few minutes, then he asked for advice on how to get close to a 10-year old boy.

“It’s not as if I can be a private tutor or teacher or anything,” he pointed out. “As far as the U.K. government is concerned, I don’t exist at all. They’re not likely to hire me at a school without any qualifications, and anyway I’d look a bit creepy trying to be a personal tutor when I have never taught in a school.”

Guy sighed. If Merlin was going to go ahead with this, he might as well give the lad the benefit of his wisdom.

“Look, Merlin,” he said, “just set up a café with the same name as this one. Arthur seemed to know his way round the menu when he came in here two years ago. I’m willing to bet that he had encountered you before in a similar setting. Just make sure that you jump back to an earlier era than the date when he came here last. Do you remember when that was?”

Merlin nodded. “June 1st 1994,” he said. “So I’ll pitch it a little earlier – maybe 1992, when Arthur would have been…” he counted on his fingers, “eight? Right. And I think I know how to draw him in… eight-year old boys love Lego, right? But how will Linda… I can only transport myself, you know, and someone needs to look after her at night. Not you, Drake,” he said hurriedly.

Drake’s hopeful smile faded.

“You will just have to come back at night,” said Guy. “That way you can keep this shop going as well.” Merlin’s expression brightened.

“Yes… I like that,” he said. “I’ll be doing 16-hour shifts, mind; if I do 8 hours in Edinburgh and then 8 hours in London. That just about gives me enough time for some admin and some sleep before my next shift. Yes, I think I can do that! With help of course.” He flashed Guy a coquettish smile, and batted his lashes.

Guy sighed. Merlin’s transparent attempts at being manipulative were laughable, but somehow he never seemed to have the heart to say “no”. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur (8) likes the look of a new tea shop in Edinburgh and persuades his dad to buy him some cake there. The cake is amazing. The tea shop becomes Arthur's favourite place. The waiter does magic tricks and makes Arthur feel better when he's having a bad time at school.

_Four years earlier._

_Cups and Saucerers café, Edinburgh. Saturday 10th September 1992. Time: 2.18pm._

Arthur had just played his first football match, and his footsteps dragged when they passed a tea shop. Its windows were all steamed up and it had pictures of dragons in the window. His father gave him a knowing look.

“You’ll need an early night tonight, my son,” said Theo.

Arthur felt cross. He wasn’t tired at all! “I’ll be fine,” he protested, stifling a yawn. “Hey, this is new. Can we try it? Please, Father? _Cups… and… Saucers_ …” he read the name of the shop out slowly.

“ _Cups and Saucerers_ ,” Morgan corrected him. “Pathetic little boy can’t even read yet. Father, we can’t go in this café; the name is spelt wrong,” she continued, with that horrible smug expression she always wore when she scored a point over Arthur.

“You’re just jealous because I’m better ‘n you at football,” Arthur said. Morgy was just the most annoying big sister ever, so he gave her a push when Theo wasn’t looking. She shoved him back. “Morgan!” Theo admonished. “I think we will go in here for a cup of tea; I like to give new businesses a chance.”

“You always take his side!” she said, voice rising. “He’s a revolting, spoiled little brat. I hate him!”

“Morgan!” said Theo again, stern expression mutating into an angry frown. Arthur smiled secretly and took the opportunity to quietly pinch Morgan behind Father's back. Father was going to blow up at her, and she deserved it. She was horrible to him all the time. But instead of erupting, Father sighed, rubbing his face, and turned towards the tea shop.

“I suppose you’re both going to want cake,” he said in a conciliatory tone. Morgan immediately stopped making a fuss and nodded.

The tea shop was in Marchmont, on the ground floor of a red, stone-clad Victorian tenement block similar to the one where Arthur's family lived. The tenements were on a steep slope; the tops of them staggered up the hill, and some of them had turrets, like a castle. Arthur liked to pretend he lived in a castle, that he was the King, and Morgan was his servant. Unfortunately, Morgy was a moody old spoil-sport, and for some reason never seemed to want to play along.

Arthur’s eyes widened as he went inside. The shop wasn’t like some of the stuffy old tea shops in Morningside that Father normally took him to, full of old ladies with blue hair, and the aroma of stale macaroons. No, this one had lots of bright pictures all over the walls, of dragons and castles and knights, of ancient ruins and rocky seascapes. There was an area in one corner which had several boxes of Lego bricks in it. Arthur drifted in that direction and he sat on the floor happily rummaging. When he found and assembled a Lego knight, complete with sword and shield, he stood to brandish it at his sister in triumph.

That was the moment when the owner of the tea shop came to take their order. He was a pale-skinned man with big ears, wild, black hair, and piercing blue eyes. Arthur slipped into a seat next to Father, still holding the Lego knight.

Instead of taking his pencil and notepad from a pocket like normal waiters, this one patted himself down, as if looking for something, winked at Arthur and frowned at his sister. “I think you have something of mine,” he said. Then he leaned forward and seemed to pull a notepad and pencil from behind Morgan’s ear. “Been looking after it for me, have you? Thanks!” he said. Morgan and Arthur exchanged a look and giggled.

The waiter licked his pencil with a pointy tongue before scribbling on his pad. Just as he was about to turn away, Arthur glanced at his father, who had buried his face back in the newspaper, and at Morgan, who was scowling at a magazine. He plucked up his courage to talk to the only non-boring person in the room.

“How did you do that?” he asked the waiter.

“Do what?”

“You know,” Arthur mimed extracting something from behind his ear.

“Oh, that!” said the waiter, “Magic!” and he wiggled his fingers, beaming triumphantly.

Arthur liked his smile. He smiled with his whole body. His eyes crinkled up, his ears bobbed, his shoulders shrugged, and his lips stretched all the way across his face.

Arthur beamed back at him. “I’m Arthur,” he said. “I’m eight and a half. I like chocolate cake. I’ve got a wobbly tooth!” One of his teeth was on the edge of coming out altogether. He showed the waiter how far he could make it wobble. The waiter looked impressed.

“I’m Merrill,” he said. “I’m very, very old. I am magic. And I like making chocolate cake. So I think we can be friends, don’t you?”

Arthur nodded, and grinned.

~#~

It became a bit of a habit, popping into Cups and Saucerers after school and after football matches. Merrill served tea that came from fresh leaves, not from bags. The tea leaves looked brown and slimy like seaweed, but Father seemed to like them. Morgan always had the raspberry cheesecake, with a pot of cream on the side.

Arthur liked it best when it wasn’t busy in the tea shop. On those days Merrill came and sat next to him in the Lego corner, and they constructed castles; their Lego knights went on quests, slew monsters, fought off Scotland’s enemies, and rescued distressed prisoners. Merrill referred to Arthur as “Sire,” or “Your Majesty,” and Arthur ordered Merrill’s knights about. When Arthur asked him questions Merrill gazed at him and gave him serious answers. He didn’t ignore him like Father did, or make sarky comments like Morgan did. Sometimes Merrill did a magic trick for Arthur, finding 50p coins, or eggs, under his chin or behind his ear.

One day after football, Arthur was tired and cross because Will Valiant from Fettes had done a dirty tackle, and he’d hurt Arthur’s knee, and Arthur had had an argument with him and punched him on the nose, and then Arthur had been sent off. The triumphant smirk on Valiant’s face remained with him, and his knee still hurt, a lot, and Father had gone all red and shouted at him about not losing his temper. He hated it when Father shouted; it made him feel really small.

Father and Morgan settled down at the usual table while Arthur, scowling, headed straight for the Lego area and started constructing a big prison. He made a Will Valiant out of Lego, and bricked him up inside.

Merrill came over, then, but Arthur was still too cross to speak.

“Hey,” said Merrill gently, kneeling down and looking at the Lego Will Valiant inside the prison. “Is he a baddy?”

Arthur nodded, angry tears pricking at his eyes. He looked up to check that his sister couldn’t see them.

Merrill extracted a tissue from behind Arthur’s ear and handed it to him. When Arthur opened it out there was a tightly-wrapped lollipop nestling inside. Merrill politely looked the other way and started building an elaborate castle with his long, skilled fingers. Arthur didn’t speak for a bit. He blew his nose a few times and gulped until the big lump in his throat began to go away. He unwrapped the lollipop and jammed it into his mouth. Then he started assembling a tower of his own, to add to Merrill’s.

“This is Camelot,” said Merrill. “It’s a happy place where King Arthur goes when he is feeling sad. Here.” From under Arthur’s chin Merrill extracted a miniature toy king, complete with crown and armour and sword and everything. He offered it to Arthur.

Slowly and cautiously, Arthur reached out for the toy, catching Merrill’s eye. They exchanged a wordless glance and then Arthur put the king in the castle. Merrill put a kind, warm hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “When he can’t go there himself, he can go there in his head. None of the baddies can hurt him there,” he said.  “His knights and his friend, Merlin, protect him. Merlin’s magic, like me.” Merrill wiggled his fingers, as if he was doing a magic spell.

Arthur took the lollipop out of his mouth. “The King’s got a magic sword, too, look!” he said. “I think its name is Excalibur.” Arthur swept the King and his sword from side to side, making a swishing noise through his teeth. “I wish I had a sword.” He looked at Merrill with an imploring smile.  Merrill laughed.

“You can keep him if you like, Arthur, but you must ask your father if it’s OK, first.”

Arthur nodded and grinned. “Thank you,” he said, before popping the lolly back in.

~#~

_Two years later_

_Thursday 2 nd June, 1994. Time: 4.13pm_

By the time Arthur was ten years old, he was allowed to drop into Cups and Saucerers on his own, on the way home from school. He often stopped there when his friends were not around. He didn’t want to share magical Merrill and his extensive Lego and lollipop collection with Gareth and Percival. Merrill was special. Merrill was his.

When Arthur got back from his trip to London with his dad, it was only natural that he’d go into the tea shop to chat with his grown-up friend. It was a Thursday, after school, and Merrill was busy with the school-run mums and their noisy toddlers, so Arthur waited patiently until Merrill, during a momentary lull, popped over to his table.

“Having some chocolate cake today?” he said, extracting his magical notebook from its customary spot behind Arthur’s ear. Arthur shook his head, giggling a bit at Merrill’s magic trick.

“I’m not stopping,” he said. “I’ve got football practise in half an hour. But I wanted to see if you were back from London. You're not moving down there are you?” That would be awful. He bit his lip to stop it trembling. 

Merrill looked puzzled for a moment and then his face cleared. “Of course! It’s 2nd June 1994 today, isn’t it!” he said. Arthur wondered what that had to do with anything. “You saw me, didn’t you, when you were in London.” Merrill chuckled, his face crinkling, eyes distant as if he was remembering something from a long time ago. “I was so surprised!”

“It was you then, wasn’t it? I knew it!” said Arthur. “Did you fly back last night? We came back on an aeroplane, because Dad said I had to be back at school tomorrow. Morgy was sick on the plane.” Merrill winced. “Oh no, it was fine," Arthur continued, "she had a bag to be sick in and everything, and the flight attendant came and took it away, and then I got her biscuits.”

“Arthur, one day I will explain to you about over-sharing,” said Merrill, laughing. “But in answer to your question, no, I didn’t fly back. I time-travelled here, from London in the distant future. Meanwhile, my current London self is sitting at a table talking to his friend Guy, and wondering where you are.” And he gave Arthur an enigmatic wink.

“How distant?” demanded Arthur, playing along with Merrill’s game.

“Oh, 1998,” said Merrill, eyes dancing. “It’s the middle of the winter.” He pulled a face. “The weather is awful. I hate winter. I love time-travelling from the winter to the summer. I only go back there to sleep, and to do the accounts.” Arthur laughed out loud.

Normal grownups were too stuffy to be pretend time travellers. Merrill was the best sort of grown up. Impulsively, he leaped to his feet and wrapped his arms around Merrill, hugging him close so that he could hear his heart beating in his chest. When he leapt away again, yelling “got to go, can’t be late for footie!” Merrill was still standing there, a soft, fond expression in his eyes as he watched Arthur swing his bag onto his back

“Goodbye, Arthur,” he said, quietly, bending to resume wiping a table. “Play well.”

Arthur clattered out of the shop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 2000. Merlin has been travelling back in time to spend time with Arthur for four years. Merlin has been most recently visiting the 1996, 12-year-old Arthur, and they have become close friends. But now Arthur has disappeared, and Guy is worried about the effect of all that constant time travel on Merlin's health. Is it time to call it a day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a busy couple of weeks, I'm really sorry I haven't updated very frequently. Hopefully I can remedy that now my holidays are over.

_Four years later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. Sunday June 7th, 1998. Time: 2.18pm._

Guy sank gratefully into Merlin’s battered old armchair, ignoring the niggling protests from his knees. Merlin perched on the arm of the chair, wringing his hands.

Late on Sunday evenings, the tea shop was not open, but Guy and Merlin liked to catch up in Merlin’s tiny living room over a pot of Earl Grey and shortbread biscuits. Guy loved Merlin’s living room, which was an old fashioned TV-free sanctuary.A small, locked, steel filing cabinet stood incongruously in one corner; it contained a carefully-ordered sequence of envelopes, each of which had a date and time scrawled on the outside in Guy’s handwriting. It was Merlin’s time-travel instruction cabinet. It was nearly empty at the moment, which didn’t really mean anything, Guy thought, except that if Merlin had appeared from the future, Guy hadn’t known about it.

Linda was asleep. Although Merlin had bought her a bed, she still preferred to curl up in the airing cupboard, next to the immersion heater, where it was warm and cosy.

Guy patted Merlin ineffectually on the back. Merlin’s face had got thinner and paler, his eyes were sunken. The combined impact of the constant daily time-travelling—Merlin had effectively been living in two times simultaneously—and of Arthur’s recent disappearance had really taken its toll.

“He hasn’t been to the tea shop in four weeks!” Merlin buried his head in his hands; he grabbed great tufts of hair and pulled them frantically. “I don’t think he’s even in Edinburgh any more! But I can’t find him, I feel so blind.” When he looked up at Guy, his eyes were shining. 

Guy sighed. “Can’t he be on holiday?” His friend was disconsolate, but Guy couldn’t help feeling that this latest development might be for the best.

“No!” Merlin almost shouted. “It’s term time, Theo never takes them out of school! I’m getting really concerned.”

“Merlin, we can find out what has happened. You don’t need to go back there anymore, and I don’t think that you should. Look at you, time travel really drains you, you know that. You are physically very unwell, and mentally the strain has been terrible on you. I think it is time to call it a day. You don’t know that this boy is even the right Arthur, after all.”

Merlin’s shoulders shook. Guy’s gut twisted with pity.

“You don’t understand,” Merlin said, turning earnest, pleading eyes upon him. “It is him, I can feel it in my bones, and I have already lost him twice, Guy.” His voice was cracking with his vehemence, “I can’t bear it if I lose him again! I… I love him, Guy, I always have, he’s everything to me, it’s my destiny to protect him until he is ready, I can’t believe he is gone, I have failed again.” His voice tailed off.

“Hey! No-one said anything about failing.” Guy rubbed Merlin’s heaving shoulder. “Look, get some rest. I will ask Drake to do a search on the newspapers from 1996. There is also that new computer search facility called the World Wide Web. We’ll see if he can find anything. It’s a shame you can’t set up a computer in here.” Merlin’s magic still interfered with electronic devices; this was one reason why the tea shop remained firmly old fashioned. Thankfully, nostalgia and tranquillity were also big draws for many of Merlin’s customers.

He gave Merlin another shake and then drew his arms around his friend for an open-armed embrace. Merlin rested his head briefly on Guy’s shoulder.

“I’ll talk to Drake,” said Guy releasing Merlin. “I’ll pop round tomorrow. Don’t forget, Monday tomorrow! Banana loaf, toffee and pecan flan, and coffee and walnut cake!” He was pleased to see a ghost of a smile quirking around the corners of Merlin’s mouth. “Chin up, lad. There’s always cake to be baked.”

~#~

But Drake could not find Arthur anywhere. The boy seemed to have vanished, and his sister Morgan had disappeared as well.

“I couldn’t find any record of him at school after October 1996, which is roughly the last time Merlin saw him,” Drake said, one gloomy-sky afternoon.  He pulled a brown envelope from his satchel and cast an appraising eye over Merlin’s face. Guy wondered why he looked so wary.

“Look,” said Drake, his voice almost sounding warm, “You’d better sit down.” He pulled up a seat, indicating that Merlin should use it. Merlin looked suddenly alarmed, as if he had a premonition of impending catastrophe. “Look,” said Drake again, not meeting Merlin’s eyes, “I don’t know how to tell you this but… here's what I found.”

He pushed a terse cutting from _The Scotsman_ , dated 6th October 1996, across the table. Guy peered across, reading it upside-down.

_Professor killed in tragic accident_

_A pile-up in dense fog on the M9 today left one man killed and two people in another vehicle seriously injured. The dead man has been named as Professor Theo Pentagon (53), head of Edinburgh University’s history department. He is survived by two children aged 12 and 14._

Merlin’s face grew paler. “Poor Arthur,” he whispered. “Poor Morgan. Oh no, this is awful. But where did they go?”

“I don’t know,” said Drake, shrugging. “The school would not tell me anything; I have drawn a blank on medical records and hospital admissions. They have simply vanished.” 

Merlin sprang to his feet. He hurled the cutting to the floor, putting his hands to his head. Outside the sky blackened even further; huge rain drops began to splatter the pavement. “No!” he cried, his stricken voice echoing round the room, accompanied by a loud crack of thunder. The rain increased in intensity, mirroring Merlin’s tears until the road outside began to resemble a river. “It can’t be, I can’t lose him again!”

“I will keep looking,” said Drake. “But you may have to face it; they might have left the country. I’m sorry Merlin, there’s nothing else I can do.”

Merlin’s pleading eyes met his. Drake sighed. “I’ll carry on looking,” he said, “but I don’t hold out much hope. They could be anywhere.”

And what with one thing and another, it was another fourteen years before Drake found him. And by that time, it was too late. 

Arthur was already dead.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake discovers that Arthur was brutally murdered in a Cambridge cafe ten years ago. He rushes to tell Merlin the news. Merlin resolves to travel back in time and change the course of history, and nothing Guy can say will change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “That’s it, that’s enough," Merlin said. "I’m going back in time. I’m going to find Arthur and save him. It’s my destiny.”

_Fourteen years later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. Monday 2nd June 2014. Time: 2pm_

Drake saw the paragraph in today's _Daily Telegraph,_ next to a smiling photograph of the incoming Prime Minister Mr Reid.

> _Mr Reid (28), our youngest prime minister since William Pitt the Younger, was in Cambridge today unveiling a ten-year anniversary memorial to a dear friend of his from university. Arthur Pentagon was brutally killed at the age of 20 shortly before his graduation day in 2004. Arthur’s sister Morgan Pentagon (32) is currently serving the tenth year of a life prison sentence for his murder._

Arthur had been dead for ten years.

Drake rushed to “ _Cups and Saucerers_ ” to tell Merlin the bad news. He strode up to Merlin, who was talking animatedly to Guy, and strangely not dressed in his usual waiter’s uniform. Merlin, truth to be told, looked a bit wild-eyed and scruffy. When Merlin would not let Drake speak, but instead told him to wait before he told Merlin the bad news, because he didn’t want to drop the teapot, Drake rolled his eyes and sniffed, scenting the unmistakable whiff of time travel.

Guy had told him that a future version of Merlin been to visit the tea-shop twice already that week; there didn’t seem to be any clear reason why, Guy said, other than that ‘future’ Merlin appeared to be rather more affectionate than usual, and kept giving Guy random hugs, which Guy found a bit disconcerting at his advanced age. So Drake was not entirely taken aback when the last thing ‘future’ Merlin did before vanishing with a barely audible “pop” was to enfold Guy in a teary-eyed embrace.

When, an instant later, an immaculately dressed Merlin emerged from the kitchen, complete with a tray of Coalport China, and some biscuits, Drake and Guy waited without comment for Merlin to set the teapot down. Then Drake told Merlin the bad news. 

It was quite clear what Merlin was going to do about it.

“That’s it, that’s enough," he said once he'd recovered from the shock. "I’m going back in time. I’m going to find Arthur and save him. It’s my destiny.”

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin,” protested Guy. “If you travel back to the 6th Century you will do unimaginable harm to the timeline. Who knows what terrors you will unleash?”

Merlin shook his head. “Oh no, I’m not going to prevent Arthur’s first death, that’s impossible,” he said, with a manic grin spreading across his face. “But his second death? Now that’s a lot more plausible.”

Drake coughed. He had seen something of this outcome. “Merlin, it is your destiny to protect the young Pentagon from this untimely fate,” he said in a deep voice, “If your future self is to be believed, you have four months. I suggest you get started straight away.”

Guy spluttered his protests for a little longer, eyebrows arching comically, but it was clear that Merlin had made up his mind, and this crazy plan squared with the visions that Drake had seen.

Here in 2014 he, Drake and Guy would research how Arthur’s death came about. They would find a key preventable point in the timeline. Merlin would open a tea shop in Cambridge, back in March 2004. He would befriend the student Arthur, and do his utmost to prevent the events leading up to his death. In the meantime, Drake, Linda and Guy would be entrusted with the care of the London tea shop.

~#~

Later, after Drake left, Guy stood on the threshold and turned to express his doubts while Merlin closed up the shop.

“Merlin,” Guy started. “Have you thought about the logical consequences of what you wish to do? Truly? I really don’t think you have.” Guy’s mind was running away from him as he tried to deal with the potential ramifications. If Merlin ever changed the course of history by using a time-travelling spell, then presumably any consequences he was trying to change or prevent would no longer need changing, thus negating the need to travel back in time in the first place. So therefore he would not travel back in time: which would mean that these consequences would no longer change.

This sort of time paradox could have catastrophic implications for Guy’s sanity, not to mention tying the whole fabric of space-time in knots.

Guy explained this problem, patiently, to Merlin, three times.

“Fine,” said Merlin, eventually, leaning back in his chair. “I have the perfect solution. You must write me a note, documenting every time I time travel. I can look at your notes each day, so that I always make the jump back, even if the thing I am trying to change hasn’t actually happened.”

“But Merlin, that won’t work! If you already know what to do and when, before it happens it might change what happens.” said Guy, massaging his temples. “Plus I’ll need to write down why you have jumped back in the first place, and if you know that in advance, it might affect what happens. And God only knows what would happen if you were meant to make a jump and didn’t do it.”

“It was fine before,” Merlin said, mouth set in a mutinous line. “You didn’t protest then.”

“That, my dear boy, was because you weren’t trying to change the course of history.”

Merlin looked forlorn. Guy gently put his hand on Merlin’s wrist. “Just let it go, Merlin,” he said. “It’s too dangerous. So much can go wrong.”

Merlin pulled away, passed a hand across suspiciously bright eyes, and then started to clear away Guy’s tea things. At that moment, another customer entered the shop and Merlin bustled around.

When finally the last customer had left, and Merlin was clearing up, ready to close the shop, the warlock turned suddenly to his old friend, and Guy sighed when he saw the manic expression in his eyes that meant Merlin had dreamt up another possible way out of his conundrum.

“I know!” said Merlin, brightly, “all you have to do is put your note in a sealed envelope, and write the date and time when I should initiate the jump on the outside. That minimises the chances of me knowing something will happen before it is due to occur. I promise only to open the envelope half an hour before the jump is due to start. Easy peasy!”

Guy rubbed his head. There was no point arguing any more. Merlin was going to do this whether he liked it or not. He tried to ignore the jubilant way that Merlin punched the air when he finally nodded his assent.

Linda stood, cloth in hand, behind the till. A faint smile curved her lips as she watched this exchange through unblinking eyes. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first step to finding out what happened to Arthur all those years ago is to talk to the person convicted of his murder - Arthur's sister, Morgan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you?” she said, frowning.
> 
> “They call me Merrill these days,” he said, “but my close friends call me Merlin.”
> 
> “Merlin?” she said. “The mythical wizard? Please, don’t insult my intelligence.” But he didn’t return her smile. Dark eyes bored into hers. She found herself caught in his hypnotic stare, and her sarcastic laughter died in her throat.

_Later that week_

_Tuesday 6 th June, 2014. Parkhurst Road, Holloway, North London._  

Guy’s old bones did not approve of this new venture, but he decided to go along with it. If Merlin really was determined to plough on, Guy had better be on hand to mop up the inevitable mess.

“Good grief,” he thought to himself, massaging his aching temples. “I’m getting too old for this.” 

They were walking along the strangely traffic-free Holloway Road towards Parkhurst Road, having eaten a nondescript supermarket sandwich. Many of the other businesses on the road were boarded up after the recent North London riots, but thankfully faithful Sainsburys was still open for business. In past years, Holloway Road had been a congested, busy, bustling thoroughfare, one of the main routes out of London to the north. But now that petrol was too expensive for most ordinary people to afford, there was just the occasional electric bus trundling past. The few people walking around looked worn down, shabby and furtive even in the middle of the day. Merlin, who rarely left the tea shop these days, was visibly shocked by the changes in the area. Guy fingered the knife he now kept in his pocket, eyes darting warily about. An old man had to be careful in these difficult times, even when he was walking around with the physical embodiment of magic a friendly presence at his side.

They turned down Parkhurst Road, which was a typical North London architectural mongrel—an eclectic mixture of old and new, cheap and expensive, housing and shops. Holloway Women’s Prison, a nondescript red-brick institution, Merlin’s destination for the day, dominated one side of the street.

While Merlin veered inside the prison, Guy, knowing that his knife wouldn’t make it past the metal detector, walked on and sat sipping orange juice in the _Lord Palmerston_ pub in Tufnell Park. He opened his copy of _The Guardian_ and tapped at the crossword with his pencil while he waited for Merlin to return. Guy wondered if Morgan would even remember him. She would not have seen him since she was 14 years old.

~#~

Morgan was tough; after nearly a decade in prison she knew how to put up walls and deflect uncomfortable questions. But when Merrill Ambrose walked through the door, she found herself transported back to happier times--to her childhood and scowling teenager-hood, to her annoying little brother who had grown to be her rock, and who had for a while, been her only friend. So she found herself being even more than usually brusque .

“Oh,” she said, her voice wavering a bit but not enough that anyone would notice, “it’s you.”

“Yes,” he replied, his kind eyes doing their best to break down all her carefully constructed barriers. She wondered what he thought of the changes time had wrought—of her shaved head, her tattoos—and shook herself. She wasn’t supposed to care.

He looked around, to see if anyone was watching, waggled his fingers as if to say “magic”, and flashed a broad smile. He had always had devastating smiles, but she forced herself not to return this one. She had had a lot of practice at not-smiling. “It’s wonderful to see you,” he said, and then grimaced as his brain caught up with his words. “Although the venue could be better?”

“I didn’t recognise your name,” she said, picking nervously at the skin between her fingers, “but it’s not as if anyone else ever visits me, not since Leon… erm,” Shit. She didn’t want to expose her vulnerability when it came to Leon. That was one wound that would never heal. It was one that she had made herself.

“Thank you for letting me see you,” he replied. “It took me a long time to find you. I have been looking for years, ever since you left Edinburgh.” He reached across the table to calm her restless hand with a touch. Her heart fluttered when she saw the sincerity in his face. She scowled to hide her reaction.

“I am so sorry I didn’t find you,” he continued. “The intervening years have not been kind to you, have they?” She flinched, feeling her defences crumbling.

“Well, they have clearly been kind to you,” she said in a brittle voice, pulling her hand away. He did not look any older than he had when she knew him twenty years ago.

“You should see the portrait in my attic,” he joked, although his face was sad.

She had had enough. “Why are you here?” she said. “Lovely though it is to converse with someone who has actually read Oscar Wilde, no-one visits me here unless they want something, at least not since... I am not sure that I understand what you want from me.”

He nodded and swallowed, looking away. “I find it hard to believe that the girl I knew would do what they say you did, Morgan. And yet, you have always maintained that you are guilty. What happened?”

“I might have known,” she said bitterly. “All these years, and still it’s all about Arthur. It always was with you, wasn’t it, Merrill?” When he didn't deny it, she nodded. The truth was that it was not just Merrill. All the reporters who had come prying and snooping had asked the same thing. She didn’t matter, it was all about the golden boy Arthur. Resentment and grief battled in her heart.

She frowned, thinking back to that awful day. She couldn’t really remember what had happened; she could remember talking to Moore in the coffee shop, remembered Arthur stumbling in and blurting out that he’d had an accident, but then everything went blank. The next thing she knew, she was standing in a pool of blood with a sharp knife from the coffee-shop kitchen in her hand, her brother still and lifeless on the floor. It hurt to think about it even now. Her head started to throb.

“I told the police everything,” she said. “I don’t see why I should go over it all again with you.”

He nodded and touched her hand again. “Because I want to help you,” he said.

She sneered. “The best lawyers I could afford couldn’t help me. What makes you think you  can?”

Merrill flashed her a smile that held no mirth.

“Because I can do this,” he said. He held up a hand, fingers splaying, and then Morgan felt an emotion she had not experienced for nine long years: utter shock and awe. Merrill’s eyes flashed gold, and at that moment all the noise and activity in the room stilled. The clock stopped ticking. There was silence apart from the beating of her pulse in her ears.

 “What just happened?” she whispered, looking around herself in disbelief. Merrill shrugged and waggled his fingers.

“Magic!” he replied, with that sad smile again. “I have slowed down time so that we can talk freely.”

Realising that her mouth was slack, she closed it with a snap. “Who are you?” she said, frowning.

“They call me Merrill these days,” he said, “but my close friends call me Merlin.”

“Merlin?” she said. “The mythical wizard? Please, don’t insult my intelligence.” But he didn’t return her smile. Dark eyes bored into hers. She found herself caught in his hypnotic stare, and her sarcastic laughter died in her throat.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You’re the only living soul who knows who I really am, apart from a mismatched pair of dragons and an elderly hippy named Guy.”

He paused, and his eyebrows drew together, and he seemed to grow older, sterner. Her heart was pounding but she could not move. She felt cornered, a frightened mouse caught by a cat.

“I have waited,” he said. His voice deepened, she swore it almost had a hint of thunder in it. It echoed with profound grief, and vibrated in her chest. “I was trapped, bound to the earth for eternity, awaiting his return, and not permitted to die. And then, miraculously, he came. My friend. My King. Your brother. He returned. And you killed him.” He pointed at her. “You have never denied your guilt. Why shouldn’t I just kill you now?” He sounded detached, curious, but she heard his deadly intent and saw the shimmer in his eyes.

“No,” she whispered, “please don’t, I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why I—“ She was panting, she realised, on the edge of tears, panicking; it would not do to go out into the jail looking this vulnerable. The vultures would tear her to shreds. She took a moment to regain her composure, took a couple of deep breaths, avoiding his unnerving stare.

He leaned forward across the table and reached up to her temple, where a tattoo of two entwined dragons curled from her ear up into her bare scalp. He traced it with a curious finger and then reached up with the other hand.

“It hurts you to think about it, doesn’t it?” he said. She leaned into his gentle, soothing fingers as they massaged her head, her eyelids drooping. Relief seemed to spread from his fingers, radiating into her skull, calming her, numbing the pain.

“Why did you kill him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t remember anything.” Her eyes blurred and she pushed his hands away. She gasped as the pain returned. It had always been like that, whenever she tried to remember, to work out why and how she could have killed her brother, her maddening, arrogant, irritating brother who was also the kindest, most generous person she knew. Why had she done that? What had she done? She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes to try to stop the needles shooting through her head. It never worked. “I don’t know,” she said again through the sobs.

“I don’t believe that you killed Arthur,” Merlin said, if it was indeed him and not some talented charlatan. “I think I can fix it.  It’s my destiny.”

“How?” she said, trying to hide the anguish in her voice.

He flashed her another disarming smile and wiggled his fingers. “Magic!” he said. He leaned forward and pressed his calming fingers to her grateful temples, and for a blessed moment she experienced a profound sense of a burden shared.

~#~

When Merlin emerged and rejoined Guy in the _Lord Palmerston_ , he looked exhausted. “Are you all right?” said Guy, concerned about the black rings under Merlin’s eyes.

“M’ fine,” said Merlin. “Starving though.”

Guy looked at his watch. It was 3.15pm; they had eaten lunch less than 2 hours ago. He rolled his eyes. “Is this some kind of 1500-year growth spurt,” he grouched, “or have you got a tapeworm?”

“Neither!” said Merlin, “I have just had an emotionally draining conversation with a convicted murderer, and I need refuelling, that’s all.”

“I know a nice tea shop in Clerkenwell,” said Guy, raising a hopeful eyebrow. But then he heard Merlin’s stomach growl. He sighed. “You’ve been messing around with time again, haven’t you.”

Merlin looked contrite. “I borrowed a few hours,” he said. “I’ll treat you to a pub lunch.”

#~#

Guy tucked into the wood pigeon, which he suspected in the current tough economic climate might actually be urban pigeon, freshly trapped on an Islington rooftop, while Merlin had a (probably safer) vegetarian crumble. They washed it down with London Pride. Guy was grateful that the Fullers Brewery had not yet succumbed to the catastrophic collapse of the economy. At least Pride was brewed fairly locally, and so the transportation costs were not too astronomical.

While they ate, Merlin related Morgan’s version of the events surrounding Arthur’s death.

“It all began in March 2004,” he said, shovelling in a forkful of crumble, “Just before the Easter break. Most of the finals students stayed in Cambridge to revise. Morgan was studying for her MPhil. Moore Dee-Reid was a first year, but he stayed in Cambridge as well. He had a girlfriend, Kara.”

“Wait,” said Guy, frowning. “You’re going too fast. Moore Dee-Reid? The Prime Minister?”

“Yes, back then he was a spotty undergraduate, who caught poor Morgan’s eye.” Merlin mopped his plate up with a large hunk of bread, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied groan of approval. “But Moore fell in love with a girl named Kara.”

“Ah. Unrequited love.” Guy gulped several mouthfuls of his pint. He was going to need it, he could tell. His head was hurting again. “It happens all the time,” he said, knowing how it felt.

Merlin nodded. “Moore started dating Kara in March 2004; he was completely smitten. Morgan realised her chances were over, but still pined for him.” He looked sad for a moment.

“Are you feeling sorry for your friend’s murderer, Merlin?” said Guy. Merlin was a sentimental idiot sometimes.

“No—I mean, yes, I do feel sorry for her, but I don’t think she did it,” he replied. He looked around the pub and leaned forward, his voice lowered. “She has been tampered with. Magically. Someone has erased her memory. I think she was framed.”

Guy frowned. He had to trust his friend on these matters, but sometimes his pronouncements seemed a bit far-fetched.

“Really Merlin?” he said. “Are you sure?” Tampered-with memories sounded painful. Guy winced, partly in sympathy, and partly because of the stabbing pain in his own head. “Poor girl,” he said, his voice a little faint.

The warlock nodded and slurped his beer. “Yes. So I’m going to find out what happened, find out who has messed with her brain, and fix it.” He lowered his voice even further, drawing Guy in with a conspiratorial whisper. “I think it was Moore, Guy.”

“Moore? The PM?” Guy cried, forgetting himself in a London Pride fuelled unguarded moment. A few heads turned in the pub. Guy lowered his voice. “Are you accusing the PM of Arthur’s murder?” he said, quietly this time. “You need to be careful what you say, Merlin. People have been jailed for less, you know.”

“I know; and that is why I believe her,” Merlin replied. “I knew Morgan. She would never have murdered her brother. The only other person present was Moore Dee-Reid.”

“He had an opportunity, but what was his motive?” said Guy.

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t know for sure,” he said, his mouth pursed up into a grimace. “But I’m going to find out. Morgan couldn’t tell me why she did it. Doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?”

Guy nodded. “You’re right. It does seem odd.” He felt a little odd himself. His vision had focused to a single tight point and his head throbbed.

“I’m going to go back in time, find out what was going on, and prevent it all.” said Merlin. “Guy?” Merlin’s voice faltered as he looked across the table at his friend. His expression became concerned. “Guy, are you OK?”

Guy didn’t feel OK. He couldn’t really bring himself to speak, the pain in his head was too great. Everything went blank for a moment. Then Guy found himself on the floor, surrounded by smashed crockery, with Merlin holding his hand.

“Guy!” Merlin was shouting. “Somebody get an ambulance! Guy!” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy's being curiously tight-lipped about the cause of his blackout. Meanwhile, Drake has uncovered a possible motive for Arthur's murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guy was sitting up in bed, grumbling and folding his newspaper. “I really don’t know why you all have to make such a fuss,” he said. “I am getting old, that’s all. I am 74 years young, and that’s really no age to go gallivanting around women’s prisons arguing with convicted murderers.”
> 
> “But all you did was sit in the pub doing the Guardian crossword,” Merlin reminded him. “I think I’m going to confiscate your daily paper if that's the effect it’s going to have on you.”

_One week later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. Friday 13th June 2014. Time: 2pm_

Drake wasn’t allowed to pick Guy up from the hospital—not on his motorbike, at any rate—so he looked after the tea shop while Merlin went in a taxi. Merlin brought Guy back to his tiny flat above the tea shop. He installed Guy in Linda’s room where he could keep an eye on his friend. Linda didn’t need it, anyway; she still preferred to sleep in the airing cupboard.

Drake brought a slice of carrot cake and a pot of Assam up, and rapped on the door before letting himself in. Merlin, perched on the edge of the bed, looked up at him and smiled tiredly.

Guy was sitting up in bed, grumbling and folding his newspaper. “I really don’t know why you all have to make such a fuss,” he said. “I am getting old, that’s all. I am 74 years young, and that’s really no age to go gallivanting around women’s prisons arguing with convicted murderers.”

“But all you did was sit in the pub doing the Guardian crossword,” Merlin reminded him. “I think I’m going to confiscate your daily paper if that's the effect it’s going to have on you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Guy said, pushing his spectacles to the end of his nose and peering at the offending article. “It’s an old man’s only pleasure. Oh look, I don’t believe it!” This last in response to Prime Minister Dee-Reid’s latest proposal to reintroduce capital punishment for poaching and thieving, and his plans to create a brand new debtor’s prison close to the site of the old Fleet Prison on the edge of the City. “The man is positively medieval.”

Merlin smiled, but Drake thought he looked worried. Guy shooed the two of them out of the room and tucked into his carrot cake. “I’ll be up and about in no time,” he called at them through the closing door.

“Stop talking while you eat, you’ll get crumbs on the duvet!” said Merlin.

“Of all the cheek!” came Guy’s muffled yell.

Drake accompanied Merlin back to the tea shop. It was quiet—it had been quiet for months, to be honest, thanks to the ongoing financial crisis, fuel shortage, martial law and high unemployment rates. But there was a trickle of loyal regulars, particularly those who appreciated the near total news blackout in Cups and Saucerers, with its lack of TV, internet or electronic coffee machines, and its inexplicable status as the only mobile phone black spot in central London. There were enough customers to just about make it worthwhile baking a few cakes and opening up each day.

“So,” said Drake, finally, as Merlin bustled around cleaning tables, and avoided talking about Guy, or Morgan, or time travel, or anything else of any consequence. “What do you think is wrong with him?”

“I don’t know” said Merlin, raking fingers through his hair and pulling a face. “He said he’s fine, but the doctors’ faces were grave. He had lots of tests done, but the results mysteriously vanished when I arrived. Plus, all the screens winked out when I walked into the room, because of the impact my magic has on electronics. And he’s not telling me anything.”

Drake nodded. He understood. He would have been the same, in Guy’s position. Merlin… felt things. He felt things too deeply. Guy was probably protecting him. It must have been hard for Merlin, all these centuries, to fall in love over and over again, and watch his lovers bloom and then fade away one by one. Not easy for the small number that Merlin had let into his heart either, to grow old and see their lover remain so young and beautiful, so powerful and unattainable. Somehow, for all his power, Merlin still didn’t seem to be able to steel himself against these deep hurts. Drake felt strangely comforted that Merlin had not succumbed to the temptation to become aloof and inhuman.

Drake glanced towards Linda, his eyes meeting hers. He smiled and then turned away again. Soon. Soon she would fledge, and he would be able to court her. Her face exerted a strange and growing fascination for him. He wanted to gaze upon it, touch it, memorise every tiny blemish on her nearly perfect skin. He found himself looking at her again. He could wait, she was worth it.

Merlin coughed, and Drake jumped. “Sorry,” he said. “I got a bit distracted.” He opened up his satchel and reached inside. “This was difficult to find,” he said, “it’s almost as if someone has tried to erase the incident from history. The daily papers for 1st June 2004 and local Cambridgeshire papers are all missing from the British Library and Cambridge University Library. I eventually found this in an old copy of the Cambridge Evening News. In the Bodleian Library in Oxford, of all places.”

He passed a press cutting across the table. Merlin peered at it.

“ _Double tragedy_ ” read the headline.

> _A shocking double tragedy has marred the usually jubilant end-of-term festivities for Cambridge University students this year. Police report that third-year English student and promising young actress Kara Magda (21) was killed while jogging in the early hours of the morning. A car belonging to third-year Economics student, Arthur Pentagon (20), was found abandoned near the scene. In a separate incident, Pentagon was later found stabbed in a coffee shop in the city. He was pronounced dead at the scene. A 22-year-old woman, thought to be known to Pentagon, has been arrested on suspicion of murder._

Merlin sat gaping at Blake. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “It was revenge. Moore was in love with Kara. Arthur must have had an accident in his car, and killed her. Oh my God. There’s no time to lose.” He rose to his feet, and paced around the empty tea shop, his feet scuffing against the floor.

“I need to get started. I need to go back to 2004; if I have four months, and the accident occurred on 1st June, I calculate that I should set up the Cambridge branch of Cups and Saucerers on 1st February.”

Drake remained silent while Merlin paced round the room, outlining his plan.

 “I can’t take anything back in time with me but the clothes on my back and enough cash to buy a tea shop, I hope that magic will cover the rest.”

“Notes.” Linda’s voice cut through his frenetic pacing. Drake jumped at the sound. Linda spoke so infrequently, it was a shock to hear it. His pulse thrummed under his skin.

Merlin smiled at her. “Linda is right. I need Guy to write the notes about each jump for me. There had better be nothing wrong with the old hypochondriac. Certainly his level of cussedness is back to normal.”

He stopped pacing, both hands firmly on the table, shoulders rigid with firm intent.

 “I will try to buy the coffee shop where Arthur was murdered, and re-open it as a branch of Cups and Saucerers. Apparently they had become accustomed to going there regularly. I may have some difficulty as it was owned at the time by Moore Dee-Reid’s mother, Viviane. I’ll see what I can do.”

His eyes glinted in the dim light.

“I have to succeed, Drake,” he said, voice firm and resolute. “I am firmly convinced that England’s current economic predicament can be averted if we can prevent Reid’s election. There’s a lot riding on this, Drake—more than just my desire to see Arthur again. I think Albion’s time of great need is upon us, and Arthur has an important role to play if I can save him.”

Drake grunted his agreement. “I have seen something of it,” he said, breaking his silence. “You and Arthur have a great destiny, bound together for all time. I only hope you can succeed, it will be hard and thankless.”

“I am used to that,” said Merlin, drawing out a chair, sitting next to Drake and resting his chin on his hands.

Drake resumed his brooding contemplation of Linda’s face. She returned his gaze. Soon, my beautiful, he silently vowed.

The two men sat together, silently, each lost in his own thoughts, while the white-haired dragon girl looked on. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 2004, and Arthur's in his final year at Cambridge university. He checks out a new tea shop that's just opened up, and recognises the surprisingly attractive proprietor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Of course,” said Arthur. “You probably don’t remember me. You must have seen hundreds of customers every day. I am Arthur. I used to come to your Edinburgh café with my dad and my sister, you know, when I was a kid! You gave me a plastic King Arthur toy, and we built a Lego castle called Camelot, you were my fav…” he coughed. “But then Father died, and I moved to Switzerland, so you have probably completely forgotten me.”
> 
> Merrill flashed his joyful smile at Arthur again, this time with dimples. “No, Arthur, I haven’t forgotten you,” he said softly.

_Ten years earlier_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. Tuesday February 3rd 2004. Time: 3.15pm_

Arthur did a double-take when he spotted the name of the new tea-shop. It had sprung up almost overnight, right opposite his college.

Arthur and his two companions had been wending their leisurely way back from the Sidgwick campus, dodging cyclists along the backs of the colleges in the deepening gloom. As they walked, Gavin had been explaining his recent conundrum. Elena had dumped him, and it wasn’t as if he was pining or anything, but he was as horny as… as… a rhinoceros with an extra horn, and he really needed to get laid. Gavin was one of Arthur’s closest friends; they’d been like brothers since Arthur’s father died and Gavin’s dad was appointed his guardian.

They decided to ask Gwen and Morgan if any of their friends was single and up for a casual ‘no strings’ hook-up, but when they dropped in on Gwen at Queens', she was out, and not answering her phone. Leaving a rude message on a piece of paper pinned to her door, they meandered down Silver Street and took a left along King's Parade, with a vague idea of visiting Morgan at her rooms in Jesus College. The creamy spires and turrets of King’s College’s famous chapel were hardly visible, but the timeless, ethereal voices of rehearsing choristers drifted through the fog.

Arthur shivered, and smoky tendrils of his breath coalesced as he spoke. “Hey, wait a second,” he said to Leon and Gavin. He stopped dead, holding Leon’s arm. His companions turned, curious. “Look, I don’t know about you beardy bastards, but I’m freezing, and starving, and as if by magic, there’s a new café for us to try.” He nodded across the street at the sign “Cups and Saucerers”. Familiar, welcoming cinnamon-ey smells were now wafting across the pavement towards them.

“It’s just like one I used to go to in Edinburgh when I was a kid. I wonder if it’s a chain. Shall we try it? We’ll do a better job of fixing Gavin’s problem if we have cake inside us.”

They abandoned their original idea of trudging all the way to Jesus. The freezing fog was attempting to extract all the heat from their bones. The idea of a hot cup of tea and some cake was too tempting for words.

Leon shrugged. “You’re buying,” he said. Leon had a wry, self-deprecating sense of humour. Although he was from another college, he shared supervisions with Arthur and Gavin, and the three men had quickly bonded two and a half years ago during their first meeting with their eccentric Director of Studies, who looked a bit like Gandalf, and wore a robe to match. The three of them hadn’t learnt a thing in that meeting, they were too busy exchanging mirthful looks over Doctor Monmouth's quirky appearance. On that particular occasion, the aging academic droned on about macroeconomic theory, oblivious to the fact that his white beard had dipped into his coffee, thus obtaining a brown tip, which then painted coffee stains all over his matching white cloak.

“Tight-fisted bugger!” said Arthur without heat, pushing the door open and texting Morgan and Gwen their whereabouts at the same time. Gavin rolled his eyes. He didn’t have a mobile phone; he was resisting their encroaching presence. As they entered the café, Arthur’s phone winked out. He shook it a few times to no avail, but then, frustrated, put it back in his pocket.

Gavin laughed at him, pointing at the sign above the counter which read “ _Mobile Phones Will Be Exterminated_!” Arthur flipped two fingers at him.

Somewhere inside the tiny café, a bell tinkled, heralding their arrival. Condensation fogged the windows, giving the place a cosy air.

Arthur sat down and read the blackboard above the counter. It listed a wide variety of delectable-sounding cakes: carrot-cake, blackcurrant tart, pecan and toffee, lemon drizzle cake, Victoria sponge, traditional English scones with whipped cream and strawberry jam, rich chocolate fudge cake, toffee and caramel cake, coffee and walnut. He found himself salivating at the thought of all that sweet gooey deliciousness.

Two other tables were occupied by members of what Arthur privately referred to as the “lesser-spotted artsy-fartsy” tribe of which his sister was a fully paid-up member. This commonly-observed Cambridge species were readily identifiable by their terribly angstful, hardworked expression. As far as Arthur could see, none of them did any actual studying, but instead spent their days wafting around wearing ethnic prints, spouting off about Joyce and Beckett to impress people. As he watched, a particularly fine specimen of the breed tossed his pink dreadlocks, twiddled his nose-ring, sucked down his organic oolong from a chipped blue china cup, and withdrew a battered copy of “Finnegan’s Wake” from his hemp bag.

Arthur snorted. _I bet he’s never read that,_ he thought. _He’s just bought a crumpled second-hand copy that he think makes him look intelligent._

So far gone was Arthur in his ruminations on Cambridge ethnography, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the waiter put a warm hand on his back.

“Hello!” said the waiter. “Welcome to _Cups and Saucerers_. My name’s Merrill, what delicious treats can I magic into existence for you today?”

Arthur’s jaw dropped open. “Merrill?” he croaked. “My god, it’s really you. You haven’t changed a bit! It’s been, what, eight years? Wow!” He gave a shifty look across to his friends, who were watching this exchange with amusement. “Merrill used to run a café I went to with my dad, in Edinburgh. Come to think of it, he ran a café in London as well. Merrill, don’t tell me there are three of you? How do you manage it?”

Merrill wiggled his fingers in the way Arthur remembered, smiling at him with a face-splitting grin that made his eyes disappear into crinkly half-moons.

“Magic!” Merrill said. Arthur laughed, delighted at the memory. “Do I know you from somewhere then?” Merrill continued, which was odd, because Arthur could have sworn he had seen a flash of recognition in the waiter’s eyes. But that was stupid. Arthur looked completely different back when he was twelve. He must have imagined it.

“Of course,” said Arthur. “You probably don’t remember me. You must have seen hundreds of customers every day. I am Arthur. I used to come to your Edinburgh café with my dad and my sister, you know, when I was a kid! You gave me a plastic King Arthur toy, and we built a Lego castle called Camelot, you were my fav…” he coughed. “But then Father died, and I moved to Switzerland, so you have probably completely forgotten me.”

Merrill flashed his joyful smile at Arthur again, this time with dimples. “No, Arthur, I haven’t forgotten you,” he said softly. Arthur could swear he saw a faint blush creeping up Merrill’s cheeks, following the line of his cheekbones towards his prominent ears. God. He hadn’t realised, when he was a kid, how beautiful Merrill was. “Boiled egg with dippy soldiers?” said Merrill, teasingly. “Followed by a large wedge of chocolate cake?”

Arthur blushed himself then, but smiled back. “You do remember me then,” he said. He cleared his throat to hide his confusion. “Think I’ll pass on the boiled egg but… your chocolate cake was legendary.”

Merrill grinned. “I have to inform you, though,” he said, “that it’s not a café, it’s a tea shop.” He leaned forward, and for one hideously embarrassing moment, Arthur thought he was going to extract a notebook from behind Arthur’s ear like he used to. Instead he passed a menu across the table. Arthur felt strangely disappointed. He shook himself mentally and told himself to stop being a sentimental sap.

“Here, see, no coffees listed, only teas. So, choose a tea. I’ve got black tea, white tea, green tea… Earl Grey, Assam, Darjeeling, Oolong, Hong Mao Feng, Lung Ching, Lapsang Souchong, Sencha, Jasmine…”

“Mango? Blackcurrant?” said Arthur, but he was joking, because he hated things that tasted of fruit but pretended to be tea.

“I’m a tea-seller, not a greengrocer,” said Merrill, looking offended.  “If you want blackcurrant, try our seasonal tart.”

Arthur burst out laughing. “You’re a tea snob!” he said.

Merlin bristled. “I’m not!” he said. “I serve PG Tips as well!”

This just made Arthur laugh louder. “And why won’t you serve coffee?”

“Spoils the scent of the tea,” said Merrill, firmly, grinning back. “And you’d better not ask for a take away, either. I believe some establishments have started serving tea in paper cups!” Merrill shuddered melodramatically. “You won’t find _me_ doing that! Anyway, take a peep at the menu, I’ve got loads more cakes, all fresh baked,” he said, backing away towards an alarm bell ringing in the kitchen. “Got to get one out of the oven now; I’ll be back in a minute, make yourselves at home.” He disappeared through a door, whistling the guitar riff from “Plug in Baby” tunelessly. Amid a clattering sound from the kitchen, a tenor voice sang, “My plug in baby… crucifies my enemies…” Arthur winced. _Don’t give up the day job_ , he thought.

“I like him,” said Leon, who had been watching this exchange with great interest. “Anyone who makes Pentagon blush must be a power to be reckoned with. And anyone who likes ‘Origin of Symmetry’ is OK in my book.”

Arthur shoved Leon hard, so that he nearly fell off his chair, and laughed. “It’s just a bit strange,” he said. “I haven’t seen the guy for years, you know, I’ve changed a lot since then but he… he just looks exactly the same.”

Gavin looked up from his menu. “Is his cooking OK?” he said, tipping his chair. Arthur nodded. “Then I think I like him, too.”

“Oi, that’s cupboard love,” said Arthur.

“Best sort,” snorted Gavin, “lasts forever. Anyway, you’re a fine one to talk with your accusations of tea snobbery. Aren’t you the man who declared that coffee was the drink of the devil? Aren’t you the man who disabled my brand new coffee-maker because you said the smell made you sick?”

Arthur smirked. At that moment Merrill returned with the cakes, naming them as he handed them out, Arthur’s plate appearing last. “And… the double chocolate cake—must be for you?” he said to Arthur.

“Absolutely. I’m drooling in anticipation,” said Arthur, eyes intent at the dark brown, gooey offering in front of him.

Gavin snorted. “Looks amazing, Merrill. I’ve only seen that expression on Arthur’s face once before, and some bloke had his lips wrapped round Arthur’s cock at the time.”

 “Gavin! I can’t believe... Merrill, I do apologise for my perverted friend.” Arthur was mortified, but also curiously diverted by the way a deep blush stole up the waiter’s face as he backed away, grinning.

Gavin merely chuckled, working his way through a slice of coffee-and-walnut cake and a slice of cheesecake with raspberry coulis. Leon bravely shoved not one but two wedges of chocolate fudge cake into his mouth, making obscene “mmm” noises all the while. The three men concluded that Merrill did indeed make magic cakes, and they would need daily doses to get them through their finals. They mopped up the last crumbs of cake and drew their chairs back to leave.

At the door, when Arthur turned to say “thank you” to Merrill, he could have sworn he was staring at Arthur’s arse. Merrill, looking up, blushed deliciously and licked his lips. Arthur let his eyes linger for just a second too long on Merrill’s before smirking and turning back to the door.

He felt a bit dazed while they walked over to Morgan’s cosy room in Jesus College. Morgan, by virtue of being a graduate student, had a set (a two-roomed bedsit); they sat in the living room, Gavin and Leon crammed onto the sofa, Arthur on a beanbag, and Morgan on the dark red carpet. She had an ancient fan heater which was pumping heat out. Arthur felt his toes and fingers thaw as he drifted off into a reverie, his thoughts still in a King’s Parade tea shop, while Morgan related a story about her recent trip to Newmarket with Gwen.

“And that was when Gwen pushed the bus driver out of the moving bus, jumped into the driver’s seat, and shouted ‘this is a hijack, I’m going to drive the Newmarket bus from now on’” said Morgan, frowning at Arthur.

Arthur nodded, distantly. “Right,” he said, thinking about Merrill’s full lips, about his smile. Merrill had definitely been checking him out when he left. He hadn’t imagined it.

“Yes, Arthur, and then she turned purple and vanished, saying that she wanted to go to Texas and do rodeo,” Morgan continued, eyes narrowing. Merrill’s hair had curled a little into his nape. Arthur imagined how his fingers would feel wrapped there, imagined those full lips curving round his cock. He looked up, sensing the expectant silence. He gulped and crossed his legs.

“Good,” he said, eyes a bit glazed.

“Arthur!” said Morgan. Her voice had that sharp, accusing note in it, like he'd been eating her favourite biscuits.

“What?”

“You are infuriatingly self-absorbed and monosyllabic today. Even more than usual. Whatever is it?” she asked.

Leon chuckled. “He has met some baker and fallen in love,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur said, definitely not thinking about the way Merrill’s ears turned pink when he blushed.

“S’ all right,” piped up Gavin. “Man cooks like a god. Arthur’s well in there, if you ask my opinion.”

“No-one is remotely interested in your opinion, Gavin,” said Arthur, but there was no bite in his voice. Not today. Morgan circled round him, as a cat does its prey.

“Hmmm,” she purred. “Arthur, need I remind you that you have a girlfriend? And she happens to be one of my closest friends?”

“Leave it out, Morgy,” he said. “Look, remember the guy Merrill who used to run the tea shop in Edinburgh? Well, he’s here. He’s opened a tea shop here. Same deal, same cakes, same ch—” he was about to say cheekbones, but managed to stop himself in time. “Same… chat,” he finished lamely.

“I’m calling Gwen immediately,” said Morgan. “She needs to know that she’s been baked out of your heart.”

“Look, Morgs, it’s not like that, OK?” he protested.

But it was.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's distracted by his attraction to the waiter at Cups and Saucerers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Please excuse my brother,” said Morgan in her most patronising voice. “Although he is a bit of a prat, he’s not usually this much of an imbecile; maybe his brain has been affected by doing a particularly brutal header at football training this morning.”  
> “Maybe,” conceded Leon, with a mock-concerned expression upon his face. “Arthur, do you hear a peculiar ringing in your ears? Maybe you are a little bit concussed, that might explain your inability to string words together.”

_Two days later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. Thursday February 5th 2004. Time: 11.15am_

This was stupid. 

Arthur had fallen for a lanky waiter. He was obsessed. He'd only seen the guy once, and he was in a committed, long-term relationship with Gwen. But he could think of nothing but that bloody waiter, with his pink cheekbones and wiry frame. 

He enjoyed intensely erotic dreams in which Merrill wrapped his flushed-pink lips around Arthur’s turgid cock. Yesterday, he elected to stay at Queens’ to share Gwen’s tiny bed, and on waking fully erect he buried his prick gratefully into Gwen’s moist, welcoming folds when she awoke, but wasn't able to satisfy either of them. In the end, unable to face the veiled disappointment in her face, he padded out of her room and brought himself off in the shower at her shared house.

He lost himself in imagining how Merrill’s exquisite eyes would look, staring up at him, the filthy noises Merrill would make as he sucked Arthur’s straining prick. He came so hard his legs were trembling as he watched his come swirling round and round the plughole, a thick white spiral in the foamy shower water, like the shame swirling round his stomach at his treatment of Gwen.

Today, waking in his own bed, he turned onto his knees, and lathered his bulging cock liberally with lube. He embedded it deep into both slick fists and pumped, hard, into them, picturing himself pounding into Merrill’s pert arse, imagining Merrill’s voice cracking as he begged him for more, clenching around Arthur, hot and wet and impossibly tight. He groaned loudly as he shook apart onto a towel, which he screwed up and threw into his dirty washing pile.

“Fuck,” he whispered. What was happening to him? His fantasies had never been so vivid.

~#~

“I’m sorry,” he said last night, to Gwen, over a shared bowl of pasta when she asked him for the third time, concerned, whether he was all right, and he didn’t even hear her.

“Are you ill, Arthur?” she replied, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Gavin that morning when he stood stock still on the football pitch, totally missing a glorious corner that he could easily have headed into the goal.

“Are you a complete prat, or just part way there,” said Gavin, disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Dr Monmouth. The white-bearded bore glared at his essay, two pages of utter nonsense with absolutely nothing to do with Econometrics.

“Answer the question, Pentagon, or you can kiss goodbye to your previously reliably predicted First,” Dr Monmouth said.

That morning, after football training, Leon and Morgan cornered him. He was skulking on the junction between Silver Street and King’s Parade, trying to decide whether to go into the tea shop. They marched him inside. He offered feeble protests.

It was empty but had a homely, spicy tang in the air, redolent of apples and cinnamon, butter and brown sugar. The owner was not immediately in evidence when Leon thrust Arthur into a chair, but he soon emerged from the tiny kitchen, with a broad smile on his face, and a tray of cakes balanced on his arm.

Arthur turned away. He was blinded by the face he’d been dreaming about, it was like staring into the sun. Plus, he was blushing and feeling his jeans tighten when he recalled his earlier white-hot fantasy.

“Good morning Arthur,” Merrill began. “Hello again…?” and he lifted his eyes towards Leon and Morgan in question while he started offloading cakes carefully onto the counter.

“Leon,” said Leon. He waved at Arthur’s sister to introduce her to Merrill. “And this is Morgan…”

“Oh!” If anything Merrill’s smile grew even wider. “Morgan, I remember you. You used to come to my tea shop in Edinburgh!” She returned his smile; it would have been difficult not to. “You’ve changed a bit,” he went on. “The last time I saw you, you had a sort of Goth thing going on…”

Morgan laughed. “I had a thing about _The Cure_ ,” she said. “I still have a tragic crush on Robert Smith, but have managed to suppress it in favour of a sane hair style.”

“It’s amazing you survived the experience with any hair left intact,” said Leon. Morgan stuck her tongue out at him and Merrill grinned.

As he listened to the easy banter, Arthur shuffled round in his chair so that he faced the door. He rummaged aimlessly in his bag. He didn’t like the feeling of being out of control; he hated the idea that another man could so effortlessly upset his equilibrium. He was trying not to scowl, but it didn’t help that his sister and his so-called friend were now apologising to Merrill for Arthur’s supposed bad manners.

“Please excuse my brother,” said Morgan in her most patronising voice. “Although he is a bit of a prat, he’s not usually this much of an imbecile; maybe his brain has been affected by doing a particularly brutal header at football training this morning.”

“Maybe,” conceded Leon, with a mock-concerned expression upon his face. “Arthur, do you hear a peculiar ringing in your ears? Maybe you are a little bit concussed, that might explain your inability to string words together.”

It was after the third pointed comment that Arthur lost all control of his limited patience, surged to his feet, and bellowed at Morgan, “That’s enough! Stop mocking me, you witch!” She pretended to be alarmed.

He pounded his fists onto the table in protest. Cutlery and crockery clattered. Merrill jumped backwards in shock, slamming into a neighbouring table, which unfortunately caused him to hurl a heavily loaded tray of cakes over his head. Arthur watched in horrified slow-motion as three delicious-looking cakes executed a perfect parabolic arc and landed with a splat on the hitherto immaculate floor. Merrill himself sprawled in an undignified heap, spatters of pink strawberry icing in his hair, looking faintly surprised.

Slightly ashamed of himself, and simultaneously mortified that he’d ruined his chances forever with the enigmatic and (he admitted to himself) gorgeous proprietor of his favourite tea shop, Arthur reached down to help Merrill to his feet, and then promptly let him go again with a bump when his fingers tingled  at the contact with Merrill’s hot, slim hands. Merrill fell back to the floor with a yelp.

What the hell was wrong with him? His heart shouldn’t be hammering, as if it wanted to jump out of his chest, just because he’d touched another bloke’s hands, surely? Did Merrill feel it too? The electricity that surged through his skin when they touched?

Merrill stared up at him, wide-eyed.

“Are you normally this clumsy, Arthur?” he said with a wide, self-deprecating grin, “we should probably never go into a china shop together, I’m a complete klutz.”

Arthur’s lips began to twitch up despite himself. As he bent again he grasped Merrill under the armpits to pull him back up, not daring to give into the temptation to seek more skin-on-skin contact by touching his hands. Merrill’s torso was hot and firm under his thin white shirt. Arthur fought a sudden urge to tickle him and see if Merrill would dissolve into giggles.

Where had that come from?

“I’m sorry, Merrill,” Arthur said to Merrill, breath stuttering. “I am being an idiot today, please forgive me. Let me pay you for the cakes.” He nodded vaguely at the carnage on the floor. What a waste.

“S’ fine.” Merrill swayed a bit as he lurched to his feet, biting his lower lip as he did so. Arthur shivered in the heat of his stare, trying to ignore the feel of Merrill’s sinewy muscles tensing under his fingers.

Arthur suddenly realised his hands were still under Merrill’s arms; it would be the work of one moment, he thought, to let them travel down that toned torso and pull Merrill closer, draw him in for a protracted embrace. He shivered again when he imagined how those full lips would feel pressed to his own. He wondered how the electricity tingling under his skin would feel if he touched Merrill lip to lip? Tongue to tongue? Body to body?

Lip to cock?

Arthur found his knees trembling at that thought and fought down his sudden intense arousal.

The moment started to get a little awkward. Arthur harrumphed and let go, thumping Merrill on the back so hard that Merrill staggered forward, nearly falling again.

“Oops, sorry,” said Arthur, colouring in his mortification. It didn’t help that Merrill, Morgan and Leon were all doubling over with laughter. But after a moment he saw the funny side and joined in.

“I’d better clear that up,” Merrill said eventually, signalling to the mess on the floor.

Arthur nodded. “I’ll give you a hand.” He patted Merrill, more gently this time, on the shoulder in what he imagined would look like a brotherly manner. 

Merrill smiled. “Thanks, Arthur. Wait here, I’ll bring some cleaning things.”

Merrill bustled into the kitchen, humming snatches of David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance.” Arthur watched him go, mesmerised by the vision of Merrill’s taut, retreating buttocks, which were tightly sheathed in a pair of plain black waiter’s trousers. When Merlin returned and turned his back on Arthur as he bent to retrieve the fallen tray, Arthur gulped.

“Under the moonlight, the serious moonlight,” Merrill sang, nearly-but-not-quite completely out of tune.

There was an amused titter from Morgan.

“What?” Arthur frowned. Morgan just pressed her lips together and exchanged a knowing look with Leon.

“Close your mouth, little brother,” she mocked. “And you’re drooling. It doesn’t look good on you.”

I am so screwed, he thought. But he closed his mouth.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a conversation with Gwen that goes better than he expects, swiftly followed by a conversation with Merrill that doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merrill bustled about the tea shop, bringing a tray of boiled eggs with soldiers to a small, scowling blond-haired boy, who reminded Arthur of someone. Merrill knelt next to the kid, smiling at him gently and generally being so charming that Arthur just wanted to pick him up and ravish him.

_Next day_

_Cups and Saucerers Tea Shop, Cambridge. Saturday 6 th February 2004_

“Gwen,” Arthur said, staring at the ceiling. “I think I might be gay.”

They were staying in Arthur’s room in King’s College. Arthur’s heroes—all of whom, for some reason, seemed to have the name “David”— David Bowie, David Beckham, David Seaman—stared down at them from the posters on his wall.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I love you, I really genuinely do, but I… I think I fancy… blokes. That’s all.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but was struggling to find the words to express himself. “It’s not your fault. It’s not you. It’s me.” He winced at the cliché.

Gwen sighed, rolling over to pick up her still-steaming cup of tea. They’d only made a desultory effort to have sex, really. Arthur’s heart hadn’t been in it. It had been a relief when they gave up. 

“Would this be anything to do with a certain handsome waiter you have been pining over recently?” she said, fixing him with her warm eyes.

Arthur swallowed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes, it is that obvious,” Gwen went on, her voice understanding. “Look, Arthur, I have to say this doesn’t come as a complete surprise.”

He stared at her, frowning. He realised his mouth was open, and closed it. He’d found it surprising enough.

“Well, not to anyone other than you, anyway. There are signs, you know, even though you seem to be oblivious.” She took another gulp of her tea, and then got out of Arthur’s bed, dressing herself with a dimply smile. “For example, look around.” She gestured at his walls. “Most of the men I know have at least one picture of a scantily clad female on their walls, but not you; you have your paean to the name ‘David’. Well, I suppose that’s it, then,” she carried on, still being remarkably calm as she pulled on her trainers. “We’re not together any more. Right?”

Arthur was a tiny bit offended that she wasn’t more upset.

“Right,” he nodded. “Thanks for being so…”

Gwen gave him a rueful smile. “It’s okay, you oaf. I forgive you,” she said fondly, planting a chaste kiss to his forehead, and she slipped out of the door.

~#~

Arthur reflected on this strange exchange as he sipped from his china cup, gazing over the top of it at the wiry figure of his latest obsession. Merrill bustled about the tea shop, bringing a tray of boiled eggs with soldiers to a small, scowling blond-haired boy, who reminded Arthur of someone. Merrill knelt next to the kid, smiling at him gently and generally being so charming that Arthur just wanted to pick him up and ravish him.

Most cafes in Cambridge were heavily student dominated, which gave them a certain vibe, but Merrill’s tea shop seemed to attract people from all walks of life. His establishment seemed more homely and welcoming to Arthur than any of the other places. Plus, the cakes were orgasmic and the owner was just...

“Gorgeous,” said the boy’s mum, eyes closing in bliss as her lips closed over a large forkful of lemon drizzle cake.

It was a Saturday, and therefore incredibly busy with tourists, shoppers, townsfolk, students and dons. Arthur contented himself with dozing in the corner as he watched Merrill work. From time to time he looked up to see Merrill watching him, and smiled, feeling his heart leap when Merrill smiled back. Arthur sat trying to pluck up courage to ask Merrill out. He wasn’t sure how this went, with men. Do you just ask them out? Or do you need to flirt with them first? And how do you flirt with a man, anyway? Compliments about hair and jewellery just didn’t seem right, somehow.

What about music, then? A mutual love of David Bowie, perhaps?

Merrill was washing down a recently vacated table, whistling Busted’s “Year 3000” between his teeth.

“Honestly, Merrill, Busted? Do you have no taste?” blurted Arthur. Nice start, he thought, flinching.

But Merrill laughed. “I just like songs about time travel,” he said cheerily, “seeing as how I am an expert practitioner of the art and all.”

“So did they get it right in ‘Back to the Future’ then? Do you have a flux capacitor stashed out the back there?”

“No,” said Merlin. “I just do it with my magic.” He flexed his fingers and flashed Arthur a manic grin. “So which college are you at, then, Arthur?” he added, pushing chairs back into place.

“King’s,” Arthur replied. “Merrill, I wondered if you would like…” but Merrill had dissolved into gales of disbelieving laughter.

“King’s! Of course you are,” he choked.

“Why? What’s so funny?” said Arthur.

Merrill shook his head, but his eyes danced with merriment. “It’s just you always used to refer to yourself as ‘the King’ when you were a kid…” he began, his tone fond, “I suppose you probably thought King’s College was the natural choice for you!” and he burst into giggles. 

Arthur felt humiliation and shame bloom. Heat crept up his face. He was trying to flirt, and getting it so badly wrong, and this… this… jumped-up (albeit good-looking) _waiter,_ who probably had no qualifications at all, or maybe a catering certificate at the most,was laughing at him— _him_! Arthur Pentagon! Predicted a first in Economics, captain of the university football team, on the right path to a glittering career in politics. The cheek of the man!

Arthur scowled to hide his blush. “I used to pretend you were my servant, _Mer_ rill,” he scoffed, hitting back where he had been hurt. “Not too far from the truth is it? I mean, look at you,” he let his mocking eyes travel over Merrill’s neat frame and drawled, “still waiting at tables after all this time. What’s up; can’t get a proper job?” Arthur was pleased to see Merrill flush in reaction to his jibe, hear the sharp intake of Merrill’s breath.  “I suppose you never really bothered to get any decent qualifications. Well, excuse me for not wanting to let that happen to me.” Arthur crossed his arms.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “You were a sweet kid, once, Arthur, it’s a shame you’ve grown up to be a total knob.”

Arthur gasped in mock horror. “Meow!” he said. “I’m cut to the quick!”

“But I’ve heard that Cambridge can do that to people,” Merrill went on, his voice rising in indignation. “Don’t you have an oh-so-important essay to do or something? Because I’m busy serving paying customers,” he threw out an arm towards the busy room, “and I don’t have time to nursemaid self-important prats who are too tight-fisted to shell out for a cup of tea every now and then. So just go and look down that aristocratic nose at some other mug, clotpole.”

Arthur’s mouth dropped open. To think he’d actually thought there could be something between him and this scrawny-limbed waiter with the unlikely ears. “Self-important?” he said, indignant, “at least I’m not bloody delusional like you—with your stupid, pathetic time-travel stories and your idiotic conjuring tricks. And anyway, you have no idea what kind of stress I’m under; my finals start soon and I…”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk to me about stress, Arthur Pentagon,” hissed Merrill, mouth set in a line. “You know _nothing_. You are still just a cosseted, pampered, spoilt little brat.”

Arthur gasped at the unfairness of this statement; he, Arthur had lost both his parents, had really grafted to get where he was, it was Merrill who knew nothing about anything. But the look that Merrill sent him was laden with such sadness and disappointment that Arthur bit off his reply. He suddenly felt ten years old again.

“You were so much better than this,” Merrill went on, shaking his head sorrowfully. “What happened Arthur? What happened to you? When did you turn into this… this… nasty, vindictive snob?”

“I think it might have been when you moved into town,” Arthur snapped, colouring and dumping £5 on the table to cover the cost of his cake, wrapping his college scarf round his neck and turning to go. “Don’t you have some cakes to make or something?”

He surged to his feet and strode through the door, closing it sharply without slamming, trying not to choke with the strength of the injustice he felt, ignoring Merrill, who was calling after him.

How dare he say those things; Arthur wasn’t like that, Merrill didn’t know him at all. His throat felt tight and his eyelids prickled. He barged roughly past other pedestrians, sight blurring a little. 

Furious, he stalked back to his college digs. He jammed his gym kit into a rucksack and jogged off to Fenners to work off some of his frustration, eyes firmly turned away from the welcoming light that streamed out of _Cups and Saucerers_ onto the pavement.

~#~

_Later that evening – and also ten years later_

_Flat above Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. Friday 20 th June 2014, 8.13pm._

“I’m such an idiot, Guy,” said Merlin, mouth turned down at the corners, lip trembling a little. “He was always a prat, when he was young, I shouldn’t have let him rile me so much. Now he’ll never come back to the tea shop, I’ll never see him again. And the thing is, everything I said to him was true, but it wasn’t my place to say it.”

Guy patted his friend gently on the shoulder. “You have always been impetuous, Merlin, but you have always striven to shape Arthur into the man he is destined to be. By the sound of things, a few home truths were needed.”

“Thanks, Guy. I just hope I haven’t ruined everything. For a moment there I thought…”

“What?”

“This is going to sound stupid,” said Merlin, rotating his tea-cup between his fingers.

“So what’s new?” said Guy, snorting.

Merlin slapped his arm, but without force. “I thought he was going to ask me out on a date. But then I ruined it by laughing at him. He’s never liked being laughed at.”

He gazed down into his empty teacup. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen is worried about Arthur, and is determined to get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen ran out of things to say. She wanted to confront this man, but his eyes were soft and warm, and she’d forgotten all her rehearsed speeches. He didn’t look like some kind of dastardly boyfriend-stealing gay incubus; he was just a kind-eyed man with a talent for making cakes. 
> 
> She looked down at her hands, tears pricking behind her eyes. She was being stupid, coming here for answers to her relationship problems.

_Two days later --and also ten years earlier_

_Cups and Saucerers Tea shop, Cambridge. Monday 8 th February 2004. 9.34am._

Gwen didn’t exactly feel heartbroken; it wasn’t as if Arthur was the love of her life, her forever boyfriend, exactly, but they had been together for a long time, and she cared about him. She’d miss the security of having a steady boyfriend. And she wanted to make sure he wasn’t making a big mistake.

So she pushed open the door to the tiny tea shop one wintry Monday morning, before the shop had time to fill up, and with a determined expression approached its enigmatic owner. He was washing the floor, and he looked up as she walked towards him. She schooled her features into what she hoped looked like icy disdain and not dyspepsia.

It was the first time she’d entered the tea shop since it had reopened under his management, and she was pleasantly impressed with the cleanliness, homely décor and delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. But that wasn’t what she was here for.

The owner-cum-waiter seemed curiously familiar to her, although she couldn’t work out where she recognised that distinctive combination of cheekbones and prominent ears from. But she wasn’t imagining it; there was a flash of recognition in his eyes when he saw her, and his mop clattered to the floor. She marched right up to him, extending a hand. 

“Hello,” she said with a civil smile. “I’m Gwen.”

Gulping, he wiped his hand on his apron self-consciously before taking her hand and shaking it. 

Gwen looked him up and down. He was good-looking in an unconventional way, she supposed.  

“I’m Merrill,” he said, dipping his head, “can I help you? Perhaps I can conjure up some delicious…”

“No,” she interrupted. “Cut that out. I’m not here for tea, I can’t stay, I mean, although I’m sure it’s nice, and you’re probably perfectly nice, too, I’m just worried about… about someone, who seems to have become a bit… well… and I thought you might… .”

Her voice tailed off. He had no right to gaze at her with such hopeful-looking and startlingly coloured eyes. She gulped, groping for the threads of her original composure.

“It’s all very well,” she started again, “but Arth… my boyfr… ex-boyfriend hasn’t been himself lately, and my friend said it might be something to do with you, and I just wanted you to explain yourself,” her voice wobbled a bit and then started to rise again, “because he’s a good man, and he doesn’t deserve to be messed about, just what is it you think you are doing? I… I…”

But she’d run out of things to say. She had wanted to confront this man, but his eyes were soft and warm, and she’d forgotten all her rehearsed speeches. He didn’t look like some kind of dastardly boyfriend-stealing gay incubus; he was just a kind-eyed man with a talent for making cakes. She looked down at her hands, tears pricking behind her eyes. She was being stupid, coming here for answers to her relationship problems.

“Hey,” he said, patting her on the back, steering her to a chair and sitting her down, fishing in his pocket and handing her a Kleenex. She blew her nose gratefully.

“I just wanted to ask you what you’ve done to my boyfriend,” she said, when she’d calmed down a little. “Ex-boyfriend, I mean.”

“Gwen,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m really sorry but I am not sure I understand what you are talking about.”

“Sex!” she said, loudly. An old lady who had chosen that moment to push through the tea-shop door looked shocked and reversed out hurriedly. Gwen felt humiliated but pressed on. “With me, I mean. He just isn’t interested in it any more. He dumped me, because he thinks he fancies blokes, not girls. I think he might be having some sort of sexuality crisis, and it’s all your fault.”

She knew she was being ridiculous, but it felt good to let all the bile out.

“If you hadn’t come along with your...your... cheekbones and your so-called magic and your tea shop and your fucking delicious cakes…” she shouted, indicating furiously towards the cake counter, blinking angry tears away.

But just as she reached a screeching crescendo her fury dissolved and she felt self-consciously horrified at herself.

“Oh my God,” she said, putting a shaky hand to her mouth. “Listen to me, what a bitch, I’m so sorry, of course it can’t be your fault.” She sat down and sobbed. “I’m such an idiot,” she said. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s me, isn’t it. It's all my fault. I turned Arthur gay.”

“Hey,” he replied, sitting with her and giving her arm a friendly squeeze. “You’re Arthur’s girlfriend—erm—ex-girlfriend, aren’t you?” He sighed. “Look, it’s not like that, okay? Arthur was a nice kid when I knew him years ago, but… let’s just say that he and I fought and we… we both said unforgiveable things. We don’t get on any more. Besides.” He pointed at himself, “look at me! He’s out of my league, right?” He chuckled ruefully. 

He was being so awkward that Gwen couldn’t help thawing towards him, especially when he offered her a slice of home-made toffee-caramel cake with whipped cream. “On the house, because it’s medicinal, right?”

He came and sat with her while she ate it, slowly because she was still upset, but it was delicious. After she’d finished the final mouthful he leaned forward and looked at her seriously.

“Gwen,” he said, “Nothing’s your fault. Sexual orientation is a part of someone, it’s never anyone’s _fault_. You can’t turn anyone gay! Besides which, Arthur has been with men before, I think.” He raised a questioning eyebrow, and Gwen nodded, feeling a little bit less sorry for herself. “I think we will all just have to trust Arthur to make the right decisions. As you say, he’s a good man, even though he hides it well sometimes.”

Gwen couldn’t help chuckling at that.

“So, tell me, Gwen,” he said seriously, “are you in love with him?”

When Gwen locked eyes with Merrill for a second, his eyes bored into her; it was as if her soul was laid bare. And in all conscience she could not bring herself to answer his question. She cared for Arthur, of course, he was a kind man, if a little distant, and he could be great fun when he didn’t let his sarcastic tongue or his snobbery get the better of him. But love? Could she really, truly say that she was in love with him?

She lowered her gaze and shook her head. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur bravely confronts Merrill. Can the two of them resolve their differences? And just what is up with Guy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I just want to say this,” Arthur said, not meeting Merrill’s eyes. “It reminded me of Camelot. You know, the Lego castle you used to make for me? It was my safe place, it always has been. King’s College reminded me of that, when I decided to apply to Cambridge."
> 
> A short chapter this one, sorry...

_Four days later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. Friday 12 th February 2004. 9.02am._

The tea shop was empty at that time of day; Merrill had just opened up, so when Arthur strode in, banging the door so forcefully behind him that the normally tinkly bell jangled furiously, he was just setting out the cakes.

Merrill gulped. “Arthur,” he began, but Arthur held up a hand. He needed to say his piece first to clear the air. Arthur had never found it easy to discuss his feelings, and it cost him a lot just to be there.

“I just want to say this,” he said, not meeting Merrill’s eyes. “It reminded me of Camelot. You know, the Lego castle you used to make for me? It was my safe place, it always has been. King’s College reminded me of that, when I decided to apply to Cambridge. You know, with its ridiculous turrets and ornate architecture?” Merrill nodded and bit his lip, eyes softening. “Well, this may sound strange but I… I felt safe there. It felt like home to me. I… I think your tea shop, in Edinburgh, years ago, it was my safe place. All the frightening, confusing things that happen to English boys at a Scottish school would just vanish there. And then you gave me the king, I identified with him. I would go there in my head, when my father died and I was sent away, I would go to Camelot, go to your tea shop, go to you…, in my head.”

“Arthur, I…” Merrill's face was flushed. 

“Let me finish. So that’s why I chose King’s College. So when you laughed… it hurt.” He swallowed at that simple admission. “I said some unforgivable things about you. I was humiliated. I am sorry. You are right, I had no right to judge you, I don’t know anything about your life, which doesn’t mean that I don’t want to, I would love to know more about you… and I don’t want you to think badly of me. I just wanted to explain why I overreacted.”

He felt a burden lift from his chest as he turned to walk out of the shop. Merrill touched him on the arm, pulling him round, and Arthur’s treacherous body thrilled at that contact.

Merrill’s eyes were glistening in the wan winter light. He looked mortified. 

“Wait. Please! Arthur, I’m sorry,” he said, drawing a shaky breath. “I lashed out, and I shouldn’t have. And I laughed, I can’t believe I was so rude. It kills me that I laughed about something that was so important to you. I..I can’t believe I did that. You didn’t deserve that.” A tear spilled over Merrill's lashes. “I'm a complete fool. I thought I’d ruined everything. But you came back. I'm so grateful, you have no idea.”

Arthur nodded, feeling a faint smile bloom on his lips. “All right, idiot” he said. He nudged Merrill with his shoulder, trying and failing to ignore the way it made his arm tingle.

Merrill barked out a laugh, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes. “Prat,” he replied, patting Arthur on the other shoulder, hand lingering for a moment. It was strange but wonderful how familiar their exchange felt.

They gazed at one another, and Arthur felt his face inching towards Merrill’s until he could feel hot breath on his lips. But at that moment the door tinkled, heralding a customer, and Arthur cursed inwardly as Merrill pulled away, all brisk efficiency.

~#~

_Later that evening – and also ten years later_

_Flat above Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Clerkenwell, London. Saturday 5 th July 2014. Time: 8pm_

Guy ran his finger tiredly through what remained of his hair. He was still convalescing on Linda’s unused bed in Merlin’s tiny apartment. His hand flickered to the patchwork duvet and traced the pattern of a tiny, white dragon across one of the squares.

It was a sultry evening; sunlight filtered in through the open window and a breeze stirred up patterns in the motes of dust that floated across his sight; ominous rumbles of thunder punctuated the quiet patter of footsteps on the street outside.

Merlin was standing next to the bed, organising cups and saucers on the night stand, pouring a finger of milk into the base of each cup from a delicately patterned jug. He broke out some pain-killers from their packet, putting them in a little egg-cup on Guy's tray. 

“I need you to write me out some more time-travel dockets Guy, please, to reflect what I’ve been doing recently, and also what I’m going to do for the next few weeks,” said Merlin, removing the teapot lid with a rasp and a ‘ting’, stirring the contents of the pot with a silver spoon, tapping out “shave and a hair-cut—two pounds” absently on the side of the pot, and then replacing the lid and knitted tea-cosy for a moment. “I’m going to be doing 16 hours in Cambridge for every eight in London, so I can spend more time with Arthur.”

He wasn’t looking at Guy; instead he focussed on the daily tea ritual, pouring a thin stream of hot, brown Darjeeling into two old, but much-beloved, blue “Willow-Pattern Plate” china cups. But Guy could just imagine the puppy-dog pleading expression on Merlin’s face.

"You should see him Guy," he went on. "He's so strong and bright, he shines like the sun. Of course, he's an arrogant sod, he always was, but I thought the way that he confronted me was incredibly brave, it must have been hard for him. I really thought I'd ruined everything, I should have known he'd be too noble to let things drop." 

Guy sighed. Merlin was trying to hide his stress, and it was wonderful that he and Arthur were reconciled. But Guy had noticed the tell-tale bags under his friend’s eyes, the pinched look on his forehead. The time travel had to stop soon, or Merlin would start making mistakes, and who knows what would happen then?

When Merlin stopped pouring Guy clasped his hands. “You must promise me to stop when the last time-travel docket runs out,” he said, forcing Merlin to meet his eyes. Merlin’s gaze flicked away. “Promise!” Guy insisted, shaking Merlin’s fists. Merlin eventually returned his gaze to Guy’s and nodded, once, swallowing.

That would have to be enough, thought Guy, sighing a little with relief and leaning back onto the pillows, letting his eyelids droop a little against the throb in his head. He released his grasp on Merlin’s hands so that he could steady the tray that Merlin placed on his lap. Tea, carrot cake and painkillers. His daily nightcap. 

He still hadn’t told Merlin what the doctors said; he really didn’t know how to find the words. But the dockets would run out one day. Quite soon, in fact.

Because soon Guy would be gone. And when Guy was gone, there would be no-one left to write them for Merlin—unless he could somehow persuade Drake, whose mercurial temperament made him untrustworthy, or Linda, who was surely still too young to entrust with such a responsibility.

Guy supposed he should really tell Merlin what was wrong sooner, rather than later.

They had been through a lot together; Merlin would need time to adjust. But right now, as he watched his friend potter and fuss round the room, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Merlin, who had suffered so much loss, seemed so hopeful and happy at last. Guy hated having to ruin it.  


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen has a new boyfriend. Morgan confides in Gwen about her feelings for Moore. Meanwhile, Merrill is worried about something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merrill bustled over and thrust a menu into each of their hands. The two girls tried unsuccessfully to look like they weren’t just talking about sex.
> 
> “Good morning, ladies!” he said. “Looking beautiful as ever. Gwen, you are positively glowing. Or is that stubble burn?”

_Ten years earlier – and also three weeks later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge.  Wednesday 3 rd March 2004. Time: 9.15am_

“I don’t care what you say, Gwen,” Morgan insisted, deftly folding her soaking umbrella so that she could squeeze through the door. “I know that Moore is in love with Kara, and I know I’d be a terrible cradle snatcher, but I just can’t get him out of my head. He is just so…” she shivered and looked to the heavens.

Her companion gently pushed a wet ringlet behind her ear and slotted herself onto the seat next to Morgan, casting her sodden raincoat across the chair behind her. They were the only ones in the coffee shop, but they went into their favourite out-of-the-way corner so that they could have a frank discussion without being overheard, just in case. Rain splattered noisily against the window next to their table. From the kitchen, they could hear a muffled voice imitating the guitar riff from the Clash’s “Should I stay or should I go?”

“Look,” sighed Gwen, “you will just end up causing yourself more heartbreak, Morgan. He’s just a spotty first-year. My advice is to give up now before you get hurt and fluff your MPhil.”

 “Like you did with my little brother, you mean?” said Morgan. Gwen looked stung, and Morgan felt a little bit guilty at that.

There was a loud clatter and a curse from the kitchen. The girls flinched and held their breaths for a moment, then relaxed when the muffled off-key singing resumed. _“If you say that you are mine….I’ll be here ’til the end of time…”_

“It wasn’t like that,” Gwen protested, “in fact, things were fizzling out between us already when Arthur dumped me. And Lance was just being a gentleman, waiting for it to end, before he asked me out. Anyway, when Arthur came out, although I wasn’t expecting it, suddenly something clicked and everything about him made sense. You know he was always a bit ambivalent about sex—he was dutiful and fond, rather than passionate and wild. Whereas Lance—wow! Sizzling hot!”

“Ew. That's more information than I ever wanted to know about my brother's sex life," said Morgan. "Tell me more about Lance instead. And his sizzling hot sex.” She toyed with the tablecloth, glad to be distracted from her current anxieties about Moore.

Gwen’s dimples appeared and she leaned forward. “Well, it’s not perfect but, put it this way, it’s a big improvement being with someone who’s actually into me, rather than someone who just seems to be going through the motions, if you know what I mean!” The two women laughed.

“But he’s more than just a gorgeous, sexy man,” Gwen said, and Morgan swore she could see hearts in her eyes. “He’s loving, and patient, and kind, and hilariously funny, and his gorgeous French accent…” she mimed swooning and Morgan laughed. “Plus, he’s very… vigorous…” she said, blushing, and leaning forward conspiratorially. “Last night we did it six times.” Morgan could feel her eyes crossing. Surely Gwen was exaggerating.

Merrill bustled over at that point and thrust a menu into each of their hands. The two girls tried unsuccessfully to look like they weren’t just talking about sex.

“Good morning, ladies!” he said. “Looking beautiful as ever. Gwen, you are positively glowing. Or is that stubble burn?”

Gwen looked mortified; Morgan snorted. She loved Merrill so, so much.

“I am delighted to see that you have survived the daily Nat.Sci. migration,” Merrill went on. Gwen laughed. There were still a few stray anorak-clad scientists whizzing by, on cycleback, at high speed down King’s Parade towards the Chemistry department from their main feeding and breeding grounds in Churchill college. But the main herd had passed a good ten minutes ago, which meant that it was now safe to cross the road. “What delights can I magic for you today?”

“Just a Darjeeling for me, please,” said Gwen.

“I can’t tempt you with a slice of lemon drizzle cake?”

Morgan rolled her eyes. This was a familiar routine. Gwen would put up a token battle and then pretend to be persuaded by Merrill’s rhetoric.

“No,” said Gwen, firmly. “I’m going to be good, today. Don’t be naughty.”

“I made it this morning,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Not listening!”

“It’s still warm…”

Morgan sighed. She would have to intervene.

“Just bring her a large slice as usual, Merrill,” she said. “Gwen, you’re not fooling anyone. You have a perfect figure, stop being ridiculous and just order the bloody cake. I’ll have a pot of Earl Grey please Merrill.” Merrill scribbled in his pad, then walked back to the counter to sort out her order.

Gwen’s eyes bored into her. “What?” said Morgan.

“Moore.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well.” Morgan sighed. She was totally in love with a kid, a first year Nat.Sci. Moore Dee-Reid was like no-one she’d ever seen before; his luminous blue eyes seemed to bore into her soul. He was intense, serious, ambitious, hard-working; his very gaze thrilled her to the marrow.

“He’s not my usual type, I know,” she began. “He’s so nerdy, but when he looks at me it makes me shiver, and his eyes…” Morgan tailed off, shaking her head. She thought of herself as a cutting-edge grungy, artsy hipster, and her usual conquests fell into the same category; Moore, with his tidy, ironed clothes, and his uptight, sombre demeanour was way off her normal radar. She’d met him at the ADC Theatre, where she’d been performing in an all-female production of “Taming of the Shrew”; Moore was the lighting and electrics specialist.

He’d met the bitch, Kara at the same time. She didn’t know whether it was Kara’s runner’s body, quirky eyebrows and pert little breasts that attracted Moore, or her passionate veganism and animal rights advocacy. She had a horrible suspicion that Moore valued Kara’s passion and integrity more than her appealing looks, which would just mean that Morgan had less of a chance of winning him over. Morgan knew that she came across as cool to Kara’s heat, and shallow to Kara’s depth. This didn’t mean that Morgan had no passion or depth—merely that she hid it well under a veil of brittle sarcasm.

“Maybe you’re right,” Morgan said, shaking her head. This obsession could derail her M.Phil. if she let it. Best to let it go for now. “I’ll still be here next year. Maybe if he’s over the horrible Kara by then…”

Gwen nodded, as Merrill came over and plonked the tea on the table in front of them. He gave Morgan Gwen’s Earl Grey, and gave Gwen Morgan’s Darjeeling. Morgan frowned.

“Merrill, are you all right this morning?” she asked him, switching the drinks back and fixing him with a steely stare. He didn’t seem to be as animated as usual. She wasn’t imagining it, because when she asked him he gulped convulsively and smiled, lopsidedly as if his lips didn’t want to go up at all. His eyes would not meet hers and he ducked his head.

“Just a bit worried about someone,” he said. “A friend of mine is sick but he won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s not Arthur, is it?” said Morgan, biting her lip. She’d been neglecting her brother since he’s split up with Gwen; Arthur was studying for his finals. She knew he spent a lot of time in Cups and Saucerers, which in terms of his probable grade was an improvement on The Eagle, so she’d been leaving him alone.

Merrill had been so good for Arthur in the short time they had known each other. It was an unlikely friendship, but Morgan knew that since the tea shop had opened her brother had softened; his hard, sardonic edges had blurred, and she found herself liking him more now than at any time since their father died, years ago. When the tea shop was open, Arthur was more often than not to be found in it, books in front of him, looking up from time to time to fix his eyes upon the waiter with a faraway smile.

But Merlin was shaking his head. “No-one you know,” he assured Morgan. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon pays Merlin a visit for advice on a tricky personal problem. Meanwhile, Moore is beginning to remember the distant past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Moore knew. He _remembered_. He had known ever since Emrys had walked into the shop, and bought the premises outright from his mother. He recognised Emrys’ ivory skin, glossy blue-black hair, piercing blue irises; the memories were etched deep in his psyche, and had sprung forth, demanding his attention, the moment they locked eyes.'

_Three weeks later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. Saturday 3 rd April 2004. Time: 3.49pm._

Leon rarely came to the tea shop on his own, but today he needed a treat to sooth his troubled heart. His feet guided him down Bene’t Street and along King’s Parade. Somehow he knew that Merrill would understand how it felt to love someone who didn’t see you in the same way.

Leon felt helpless. Morgan had fallen for that surly teenager, Moore Dee-Reid, and she would never look at Leon in that way. He knew that. He was too ordinary, too dull, too _obtainable_. All he could do was wait on the sidelines and hope that maybe one day she would notice him.

Today's celebration of Gavin’s latest hat-trick took place in the Eagle, in a snug little dark-oak clad room, fragrant with ale and polish. It was a grim sight, watching Moore groping Kara. Even worse was the pained expression on Morgan's face, her tragic eyes fixed on the spectacle. Leon had to leave. He couldn't bear it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” said Merrill as he handed Leon the familiar menu.

“I need sugar,” said Leon, “to get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth.”

Merrill looked around at the semi-deserted tea-shop and drew up a chair, a concerned expression on his face. “Morgan?” he said, sympathetically.

Leon let out a shaky laugh, fingers drumming the table. “Yeah,” he said. “Moore and Kara are currently locking lips in The Eagle. The slurping noises made me feel a bit ill, so I left, but Morgan wouldn’t come with me.”

Merrill nodded, his eyes kind. “I’ll bring you a large slice of dark triple chocolate fudge cake with all the trimmings,” he said. “It’s the best thing for a lonely heart, trust me on this, I have many, many years of experience to draw upon. On the house.”

When he returned with the cake, and two cups of Earl Grey, he sat with Leon again. “Tea break,” he said. “You know,” he went on as he poured out, a pale umber trickle of fragrant tea streaming from the spout, “It might not hurt to tell her how you feel about her.” He gave Leon’s hand an avuncular pat.

Leon snorted. “I can’t compete, can I?” he said. “Morgan is attracted by exciting, unconventional, unpredictable men, whereas I?” He indicated his football training-strip, his wavy strawberry blond hair, his dishevelled goatee. “Well, I’m not much to look at, and a steady career in accountancy awaits me. She’s not to blame for being underwhelmed by such blinding excitement, eh.”

Merrill shook his head. “Don’t undersell yourself, mate,” he advised. “When I look at you I see a steadfast friend, loyal, kind, honest, thoughtful, a total gentleman. You appreciate Morgan for herself. You’re tactful and considerate. I consider it a privilege that I can call you a friend. God, if you swung that way I’d marry you myself! You’re a catch, Leon. Morgan will understand one day that these are the qualities that will make her happy—not mysteriousness, moodiness or obliviousness, which I am sorry to say that our friend Moore possesses to an unhealthy degree.”

Merrill sighed and swirled the remnants of his tea around in his cup before chugalugging the lot and replacing it firmly in its saucer. “Leon,” he said. “Don’t lose heart. Tell her how you feel. It might take her a while to get her head round it, but you won’t regret it in the end, and neither will she.”

Leon was touched, if a little uncomfortable at this distinctively un-British outpouring of sentiment. Merrill’s face split into a blinding grin, as if he sensed Leon’s discomfort, and he punched Leon on the arm, returning their interaction to a more normal footing. “But you’d better carry on with the football if you’re going to keep inhaling my cakes like that,” he said, “there’s a big difference between cuddly and downright plump, mate!”

This was undoubtedly true, but Leon was more than happy to work his way through another slice, although this time he insisted on paying for it. “What about you, anyway, mate?” he said then. Merrill had brought a fork and was sampling a bit of Leon’s cake, just to check the quality.

Merrill indicated his spare figure. “I don’t have any problem with getting cuddly,” he said, through a mouthful of crumbs.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” said Leon.  “I meant, what about you, in terms of your love life, mate. You got a man of the moment?”

Merrill shook his head. “There’s someone,” he said, mouth turning down at the corners, “but I’m not sure he feels the same way I do.” Leon could guess who Merrill was talking about, and sighed. The oblivious Pentagon siblings have a lot to answer for, he thought.

Merrill stabbed the cake and swallowed another forkful. “Hmm. I reckon it could do with a tad less icing,” he said, changing the subject. “What do you think?”

“For the love of God, please don’t change anything about this cake,” replied Leon. “And that was just the most transparent case of ‘fishing for compliments’ that I’ve seen since Morgan asked Moore whether he liked her new dress.” Gloom settled over Leon again at the thought. He still had dreams about that dress, which showed off Morgan’s assets  to a “t”.

Merrill waved a hand in front of his eyes, and Leon started. “You still with us, Leon?” he asked.

Leon nodded. “Think I’m going to need another slice,” he said, pleading with his eyes. The cake was a superb distraction.

“That bad? Good thing I made an extra one this morning.”

When Leon left the tea shop half an hour later, his heartache had eased enormously. He wasn’t sure whether it was thanks to the third slice of drool-worthy cake that he’d devoured, or more likely the relief at unburdening himself to a sympathetic ear.

A few minutes later he was almost surprised to find that his footsteps were taking him in the direction of Morgan’s rooms at Jesus College. _Sod it,_ he thought. _I might as well put my heart on the line now. After all, what do I have to lose?_ Thus resolved he set forth with renewed vigour and a firm tread to his steps. _I’m going to tell her,_ he thought, laughter bubbling in his throat. _I’m really going to do it._

But when he got to her set there was no sound from inside, and she wasn’t answering her phone. He started to write a note on the piece of paper she’d left on her door using the pencil she’d blue-tacked to the dark oak panel:

“Morgan,” his hand scrawled, struggling with the difficult angle. "I think I'm in love with you."

But then the pencil snapped before he could sign his name.

Leon sighed and walked away.

 

~#~

 

_Two days later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. Monday 5 th April, 2004. Time: 10.15am._

Moore knew. He _remembered_. He had known ever since Emrys had walked into the shop, and bought the premises outright from his mother. He recognised Emrys’ ivory skin, glossy blue-black hair, piercing blue irises; the memories were etched deep in his psyche, and had sprung forth, demanding his attention, the moment they locked eyes.

He had struggling to reconcile his memories since then, to make sense of the swirling, jumbled thoughts that attacked him every waking moment, swarming into his head like angry bees.

He _remembered_.

He remembered Kara, the deathly silence that fell over Camelot when she swung from the gallows, his helplessness and fury.

He remembered the deadly satisfaction of his vengeance, the smoke, the stink of battle, the burning stench of Emrys’s sorcery, and above it all the blind hatred that moved him.

He remembered the sickening sound his sword made as he thrust it into Arthur’s side, the resistance posed by Arthur’s armour as his sword slid between Arthur’s ribs, the agonising pain of Arthur’s return blow. The triumph. The rising tide of darkness that followed.

His emotions fought maddeningly for control over his mind. At times he felt a powerful need to atone for his crime. He had to remind himself that things were different now. This time Kara was alive, was still his. But when he looked at Arthur’s golden head adoration wrestled with hatred until he felt he would explode with the strength of his feelings.

Gradually he had come to realise that, although none of the others remembered like he did, many of the actors in this ancient drama were gathering together again here in Cambridge, and he wondered what it all might be heading towards.

He pushed open the door to the tea shop. Here at least there was one person who might understand his inner conflict, might listen to him. He was not fooled by the disguise, by the man’s transparent pseudonym and breezy manner. He knew what manner of being Merrill truly was.

The tea shop was empty when he went in, and Merrill was sitting reading a newspaper. Moore strode across to him, pulled up a chair. Merrill looked up, his blue eyes wary.

“Moore,” he said, expression closed, folding the paper. Merrill had always been guarded and formal with him, when all others received a warm welcome. Oh yes, thought Moore. Merrill knew him. Merrill remembered.

Moore closed his eyes and reached out with his mind.

“Emrys,” he said, telepathically and then opened his eyes.

Merrill flinched and put a hand to his head.

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” said Merrill, out loud, his face expressionless.

Moore leaned forward. “ _I_ _remember_ ,” he said intently, his voice a hollow whisper, jaw tense, bunching his fists to stop them from trembling.

Outside there was a sudden rattle of hail on the window. Moore thought he heard a click, as if the lock was suddenly drawn across the door.

“As do I,” Emrys said, his voice deepening and his eyes clouding like the sudden disappearance of the sun outside.

“Then we understand one another,” said Moore. The two men regarded one another in silence for a moment.

Emrys cleared his throat. His eyes were shuttered. “Albion’s time of great need is upon us,” he said. “We all have a role to play. Mine is to protect Arthur and ensure that the balance is not disrupted. Make no mistake, Mordred,” and Moore shivered at the use of that ancient name, “I will defend him. You will not thwart me this time. I have waited long enough…” Lightning flashed outside and thunder crashed so loudly the window-panes rattled.

“You may find this hard to believe, but I do not wish Arthur any harm,” Moore replied, refusing to be intimidated. “Things are different now. I want to start afresh.”

Merrill nodded. “I believe that Kara is the linchpin on which this all stands. I will do my utmost to protect her.”

Moore smiled grimly at that, baring his teeth and leaning forward across the table.

“See to it that you do, Emrys” he said in a low voice. "See to it that you do."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin finds out what is the matter with Guy, who tells him that there are some things that even Merlin can't and shouldn't try to fix. But there's no time to reflect when the Prime Minister pays them a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin fidgeted and looked away. When he looked back, Guy could see a sudden hope flash across his features. He sighed. He’d have to squash that, and he hated having to do it, but it couldn’t be helped.
> 
> “Guy,” said Merlin, slowly, “maybe with the time-travel spell I could…”
> 
> “No!” said Guy firmly. “My time is coming. It is how it is. I don’t want you to change anything, do you hear me Merlin?” He enunciated every word clearly. “When this is over, when I am gone, you are not to try to travel in time any more, and I absolutely forbid you to try to change anything about my condition, or to time-travel on my account. My life will come to an end soon, it is my allotted time, and I am content. You do not have the right to take that from me.”

_Later that evening – and also ten years later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. Thursday 31 st July, 2014. 9.24pm_

Merlin’s frustration showed in his quick movements, his agitation revealed by his clumsiness. He spilt the tea, apologising and mopping, passing hands across tired eyes. He kept up a constant chatter as he mopped.

“I am sure it was Moore who killed Arthur and modified Morgana’s memories,” he said, dabbing a sponge over the intricate dragon embroidery on the duvet cover. “I couldn’t read him at all, he has magic, I’m sure of it. And his memory of the ancient past has returned in this timeline. I don’t know whether it returned in the timeline we are trying to prevent. I am hoping that I’ve already set the course of time on to a different path. What do you think, Guy? Guy?”

Guy was gasping a little with pain when Merlin sat on the bed, jarring his sore head. He felt a bit faint, and must have tuned out for a second.

“Guy? Are you all right?”

When Guy looked up again, allowing the pain to show in his eyes, Merlin was still looking at him, really looking.

“Guy?” Merlin asked again, voice distant.

His eyes flashed gold for a moment. As Guy watched, a gradual and terrible understanding crept across Merlin’s features; his jaw slackened, his eyes moistened and his lip trembled slightly.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head.

Guy was grateful to Merlin’s intuition for sparing him the indecision about when to break the news. “Yes, Merlin, I am afraid so,” he said, grave though he already felt unburdened. “My time is soon coming to an end.”

Merlin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Tears threatened to spill over his lashes.

“How long?” he said, in a low, shaky voice.

“About two months,” said Guy. “Maybe three if I’m lucky. Inoperable brain tumour. I’ve decided not to have any treatment. My oncologist has advised me that chemotherapy would probably not succeed, it would just make me feel really ill. I am looking at palliative care options and I have requested a hospice place.”

Merlin fidgeted and looked away. When he looked back, Guy could see a sudden hope flash across his features. He sighed. He’d have to squash that, and he hated having to do it, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Guy,” said Merlin, slowly, “maybe with the time-travel spell I could…”

“No!” said Guy firmly. “My time is coming. It is how it is. I don’t want you to change anything, do you hear me Merlin?” He enunciated every word clearly. “When this is over, when I am gone, you are not to try to travel in time any more, and I absolutely forbid you to try to change anything about my condition, or to time-travel on my account. My life will come to an end soon, it is my allotted time, and I am content.  You do not have the right to take that from me.”

Merlin’s tears had spilled over his lashes now, and Guy’s heart could break at the raw loneliness he read in Merlin’s expression.

“What will I ever do without you?” Merlin said, voice cracking. “My dearest friend, I can’t… I’m so sorry… I have been neglecting you, and all the time you were…”

Guy could only shake his head, the movement making him wince with pain. “I don’t know, old friend,” he said. “I am sorry, too. But it is what it is. I have had a good life, I have no regrets. You must not have any either.” He patted Merlin’s hand.

He peered at his tray, selected a cup, and took a sip of tea. After a moment he fumbled in his dressing gown pocket and extracted a packet of painkillers. He pressed two onto his hand and swallowed them down, the bitter taste of tea mingling with the chalky texture of the tablets.

Outside, the skies darkened; raindrops spattered against the glass. Torrents of fallen rain joined and whirled down the streets, picking up cigarette ends, dust and plastic packaging, and whisking them towards the great, grey-green river.

~#~

Guy must have nodded off, because he woke up with a start when the door burst open. Drake pushed through, looking tense and anxious. Linda crowded in after him.

“What the…?” Merlin started, but Drake shushed him.

“The PM’s coming,” he said. Linda, standing behind him, nodded solemnly.

“ _What?_ ” said Merlin, again, frowning. “But…he doesn’t…why would he…?”

“I saw his car parked outside,” Drake added. “He’ll be here any second.”

Guy sat up in bed. At least his painkillers were kicking in now. He lowered his feet to the floor. “Are you sure?” he said.

Drake nodded. “There was a flag on the bonnet. And two armed police on motorcycles in front of the vehicle.”

Guy sighed. “Linda, give me your arm, there’s a good lass. Merlin, you’d better go and get some cake. White-chocolate and pistachio, perhaps? I suppose it's too much to ask that it chokes that horrible, whey-faced upstart. And you'd better put the kettle on while you're at it. Drake, help me with my slippers, will you? And then you’d better come and take my other arm.”

Guy pursed his lips at Merlin, who was standing, mouth agape. “Well don’t just stand there, gawping!” he said, irritated. “What, did you just expect to receive the prime minister in my bedroom? I have my pride, you know.”

As if an invisible button was pressed, the room erupted in activity.

~#~

When the door to Merlin’s tiny living room banged open, and two burly security guards entered the room, followed by the slight but unnerving figure of Mr Moore Dee-Reid, Guy and Merlin were fully prepared, physically at least. Merlin rose to his feet, flanked by Linda and Drake.  He looked almost relaxed, but Guy could see a muscle working in his jaw.

“Emrys,” said Moore, quietly.

“Mordred,” Merlin replied. He gestured to a seat.

“Not many people call me that, these days.” Moore settled, cross-legged, into an armchair as if they were old friends. “I haven’t heard that name since you spoke to me in your tea shop, years ago.” He folded his hands in his lap.

“Tea?” said Guy. Moore looked up at him, as if he hadn’t noticed Guy sitting quietly in the corner of the room. Moore’s pale eyes looked blank, dead. Guy shivered.

“No,” he said. “I won’t stay. I have only come to give Emrys a warning.”

He stood again, and approached Merlin, eye to eye, mouth set in a spiteful line. “I hear that you have been visiting someone I used to know. _Emrys_.” He spoke between his teeth, jaw set, intent-voiced. “She is a liar and a murderer. People you care about may suffer if you persist in speaking to such low-lifes.”

Merlin’s forehead puckered.

“Are you trying to threaten me, Mordred?” he said. “Trying to warn me off? Guilty conscience getting the better of you, is it?”

His eyes flashed gold, and there was a sudden deafening thunderclap outside.

Moore chuckled mirthlessly. “Still doing your weather tricks, I see. They don’t frighten me, Emrys,” he said.

He sneered as his gaze swept the room, lighting on Linda.

“I see you have your pet dragon with you. Such a pretty little thing.” Stepping towards her, he touched her chin. She hissed, tongue snaking out.

“I wonder what would happen to her if your customers realised what they were being served by? It would be a shame for the last of her line to be…” He coughed. “Ahem. Snuffed out. Before she fledged.”

Drake stepped to Linda’s side, tendrils of steam issuing from his nose. “She is protected,” he growled. He seemed to grow a little, his shadow flickering in the dim electric light, and the temperature in the room became stifling. Guy could see beads of sweat breaking out on Moore’s forehead.

Moore coughed, and seemed unsettled. Running a finger under his collar, he turned to Guy.  “And as for your ‘friend’, here,” he continued, his voice faltering a little. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if no hospice places were available in London?”

Guy struggled to his feet. He’d had enough of this vacant-eyed little bully.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! That’s enough petty posturing, you pathetic, jumped-up twit,” he said, shuffling towards the door and holding it open, gesturing with his hand for the Prime Minister to leave. “Your empty threats don’t matter to me. I’ll be dead in six months no matter what you do. Linda is more than capable of taking care of herself. Merlin’s a soft-hearted idiot, but he’s not weak. Now get lost. The grown-ups are talking.”

Moore looked furious. “How dare you…”

“Run along,” Guy said, encouraging, lifting an eyebrow and pointing at the door. “It’s time for my nap.”

Mordred glowered. “I’ll have you… you’ll regret this, old man.” He spat the words out between his bared teeth, jaw clenched.

“Threatening a dying man? How admirable. You must be so brave.” Guy yawned pointedly, examining his nails as if bored. “Go on. Bugger off.”

Merlin opened the door and started to usher them through it.

Moore glared, wrong-footed, and turned to leave. “You haven’t heard the last of this,” he said, hissing the “s” and pointing a shaking finger at Guy. He swept back out through the door, security guards in his wake.

“And don’t come back,” Guy shouted as they clattered down the stairs. “Nasty, mean-faced little weasel,” he added under his breath.

The room felt suddenly bigger when they’d gone. Guy sank back into his chair, warmed by the proud smiles and embraces of his friends.

“I can see the headlines now,” he said. “ _PM bested by pensioner_.”

 Merlin’s hand was warm on his arm. “It takes a strong man to withstand the sardonic eyebrow of doom,” he said, which made Guy chuckle.

The temperature in the room began to drop back to normal, but Drake was still steaming gently. “He will regret threatening Linda,” he said, his tongue flicking out. _Oh dear,_ thought Guy. _That sounded ominous. If I was Moore, I’d be a worried man._

Another thought struck him, and he reached out to touch Merlin’s shoulder. “Of course, you know what this means, don’t you.”

Merlin shook his head. “Enlighten me.”

“It means, my dear idiot, that you have changed things in this timeline.”

Merlin frowned, but then his face cleared. “I suppose it does,” he said. “Mordred has obviously met me before.”

Guy nodded. “When you first embarked upon this ridiculous quest, Arthur died in a café owned by Mordred’s mother. Now Mordred is talking about your tea shop instead. You have changed things, Merlin.”

Merlin’s face lit up in a heart-stopping, joyful grin, which then faded. He stood up and began pacing around the room.

“Not enough, though,” he said, mouth grim. “He’s threatening you because I went to see Morgan, so Kara died, Moore killed Arthur, and Morgan is in prison. The important things remain the same. I still have work to do.” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Gavin's birthday, and everyone should be happy, but Merrill seems to be upset, and Arthur doesn't know why.

_Ten years earlier_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. Monday 3 th May 2004 8pm._

It was an unusual venue for a 21st birthday party. Arthur would have thought Gavin would be more likely to go for something involving copious quantities of borderline-legal stimulants, pretty people and easily-removed clothing.

“It’s a great idea,” said Gwen, with an approving tone in her voice as she stepped into the tea shop, out of the warm evening sunshine. “We’ve all got exams coming up, so at least this way we can let off steam without fear of hangover.”

 “Plus we get to eat loads of cake,” Leon agreed, removing his sunglasses and smiling as he surveyed his handiwork. Leon was in charge of the decorations, and to everyone’s surprise he’d done an amazing job. The room was festooned with bright blooms, and a hand-painted banner graced the blackboard instead of the usual cake menu. An enormous cake—Merrill’s handiwork—sat in pride of place on the counter. It was surrounded by satellite cakes of all possible varieties.

Now that he thought about it, Arthur supposed he could see the logic. He wasn’t going to complain anyway. Any evening spent with Merrill was an evening well spent, in his opinion.

Except Merrill himself didn’t seem to be getting fully into the party spirit. Oh yes, he had that stupid manic grin plastered across his face, and was flitting from table to table with elaborate cakes and pastries. But Arthur had known Merrill for a while now, had mapped his facial expressions with obsessive greed, and was pretty sure that the smile was just a façade. He wondered what had happened to upset Merrill, and fought a protective urge to whisk the waiter away from the crowd and soothe the lines from his forehead with a finger. Arthur wondered if the stress of the party was responsible, and scowled at Gavin for a moment before remembering that it was his friend’s birthday.

“Be nice, Arthur,” said Morgan, noticing his frown. She really was psychic sometimes, he grumbled to himself.

Gavin himself was on the very finest form this evening. Resplendent in a jaunty pirate costume which showed off his washboard stomach, he was flirting outrageously with a table of Queen’s College girls. Arthur sat brooding into his cake with Gwen, Lance, Leon and Morgan. Morgan had her back to the table where Moore and Kara sat, lips locked together.

Arthur pulled an empty seat across, waved Merrill over, and pulled him down onto the chair between him and Morgan.

“Sit down, Merrill,” he said. “You’re not meant to be working tonight. Gavin’s on it, don’t worry.” He didn’t remove his hand from Merrill’s shoulder. He wouldn’t put it past people to exploit Merrill mercilessly this evening, and he wasn’t going to let that happen. Plus, it felt nice. Merrill’s warmth always made Arthur’s skin tingle.

“But I just have to….”

“Nope! You don’t have to do anything. Just sit down and enjoy yourself for once. We’ll take care of everything,” said Leon.

“But what about the…”

“Merrill!” said Gwen. “It’s fine. Sit down!”

Merrill fidgeted, and looked if anything more stressed and uncomfortable. Morgan leaned forward and put her hand over his. “Are you all right?” she said, looking concerned. Arthur groaned to himself and rolled his eyes. It was like having a witch for a sister.

Over on the other side of the room a loud speaker blared out dance music. Gwaine and two of the Queens’ girls were dancing on a table.

Merrill shook his head, eyes down. Morgan spoke to him in a low voice; Arthur could only just hear what she said.

“Is it about your friend?” she said.

Merrill buried his face in his hands. Arthur could feel Merrill’s shoulder trembling under his touch. He exchanged a concerned look with Morgan across Merrill’s back, and fought down a pang of jealousy that his sister knew what was bothering Merrill whereas he did not.

The room was dark, and full of animated chatter. So no-one noticed when Arthur tugged Merrill to his feet, nor when they slipped through the staff door into the kitchen, nor when he dragged Merrill’s head onto his shoulder and pulled him tight for a warm hug, nor when he buried his hands and face in Merrill’s hair, murmuring comforting nonsense all the while. And no-one was there to witness the way that Arthur wiped the tears from Merrill’s cheeks with his thumb, bent to kiss Merrill’s eyes, his cheeks, his flushed unhappy lips. No-one but Arthur could feel how Merrill’s heart hammered under his tingling fingertips, nor taste Merrill’s honey and chocolate mouth.

“Arthur,” said Merrill, eyes glistening in the dark.

“Hush,” said Arthur. “You’re upset. Why are you upset?” The warmth of their embrace, the thud, thud of his heart, and the shudder of Merrill’s irregular breathing threatened to overwhelm him. His fingers painted circles on Merrill’s chest. Merrill caught his wrist in a fist, stopping him.

“Arthur,” he said again, gulping, pushing at him ineffectually. “Please, stop. We shouldn’t…”

“Why?” whispered Arthur, not trusting his voice. “I can’t bear you to be upset. I can’t bear it, please…” He just wanted it to stop, wanted Merrill to be happy, wanted Merrill to be his.

Merrill’s normally-shuttered expression was wide open for once, and for an infinite moment, Arthur allowed himself to drown in the fathomless grief and love that it held. But then he blinked, and looked down.

“My best friend is dying,” said Merrill at last. “And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

He sank to his knees and clung to Arthur’s legs, nuzzling his thighs, his body wracked with sobs.

“What use is all the power in the world, what use are all the riches?” he said, voice trembling, “when I cannot even save the ones that I love from their fate?” He nuzzled at Arthur’s thigh, and moaned. “What use has it ever been? What use have I ever been? The ones I love all die, and I’m left alone. When Guy dies, I won’t be able to come back here, to you, and I’ll be alone again.” He shuddered. “It is always the same,” he whispered.

 Arthur sat down on the cold kitchen floor beside his friend, pulled him onto his lap, wrapped his arms around him and rocked him like a baby, wishing he could take away the pain, take care of him forever. He didn’t understand what Merrill meant, exactly, but he knew that he wanted to be Merrill’s refuge, as Merrill had been for Arthur as a child.

“Hush,” he said again, breathing in the scent of Merrill’s hair. “I’ve got you. Hush.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon rescues Morgan from a garden party. But it seems that her brother is the one who really needs rescuing. With Merrill suffering some sort of breakdown, who can prevent Arthur from self-destruction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “My name is Merlin,” he said, his eyes whirling blue-and-gold, voice deep and trembling, laden with despair. “I have magic. I am a warlock and a dragonlord. Arthur has returned. It is my duty to protect him, and I have failed yet again.”

_Three weeks later_

_Magdalene College Lawns, Cambridge. May 31 st 2004, 3.23pm._

When Leon got the text from Gwen he was mid-way through an interminable “Pretty in Pink”-themed ADC garden party. Despite the picturesque setting on the banks of the Cam, and the copious quantities of free post-exam booze, he was feeling glum. He’d come along as Morgan’s “plus one”; as such, he knew that his job was to pick up the pieces. He sat on Morgan’s battered, pink, paisley picnic blanket, a cold bottle of Beck’s in his hand, his face slowly changing colour in the sun to match the party theme. A distant rumble of thunder hinted that a change in the weather was imminent. He loosened his pink tie and sighed.

The first-year Nat. Sci.’s had just finished their Part I exams, and Moore had, until recently, been celebrating under a nearby oak tree with Kara. They had glued their faces together and explored the possibilities offered by a short skirt in a public place. Tongues had been seen. Morgan had taken one look at this un-erotic public display of affection and climbed metaphorically and with great determination into about a gallon of Pimm’s.

The snogathon had ended, thankfully, and the pair had departed, ages ago. Kara was apparently in training for a triathlon and needed to get up early the next day for a run. But the Pimm's hadn't worked its way through Morgan's system yet. Nor would it if she didn't stop topping it up, soon.

“Thought 'e loved me,” Morgan said now, with a forlorn sniff. “Lef' a note on m’ door, ‘n everythin’.” She took a slug of Pimm's, and sucked the strawberry out of the bottom of the cup with a vulgar slurping noise. She looked utterly wrecked. Her lips were pink with strawberry juice and smudged lipstick. She started to slump a bit.

Leon thought she looked adorable. He pressed a kiss to her mussed-up hair and put his arm round her to hold her up.“That was me, you idiot,” he said quietly. He let out a self-deprecating laugh.

Her head swivelled up, lips in a surprised “o” shape. “You?” she said, her voice a half-whisper. “Lovely Leon? You left that note?”

“Yeah,” he said. He kissed her hair again.

“Lovely Leon loves me. Lalalala. That’s lalliteration, Leon.” Her eyes drooped. “M’ sleepy.” She yawned and promptly fell asleep on his shoulder.

“That went well,” he thought, a tender smile creeping onto his face. She felt warm and her hair smelt sweet. Although she drooled a bit.

Her head was heavy, so when his phone beeped, a part of him was grateful for the interruption. Holding Morgan’s lolling head up with one hand, he fished in his pocket with the other.

_Arthur has had a meltdown and upset everyone, pls help. We R in C & S._

Leon frowned. Gwen and Arthur had broken up a couple of months ago, and Gwen was dating some long-haired, astonishingly good-looking, French graduate student, but Gwen had remained one of Arthur’s friends. He wondered what might be the matter. He texted her back.

_Wassup? Wanna meet up? CU @ C & S in 10 mins? Morgan needs 2 sober up anyway._

C & S was text short hand for the tea shop they’d all grown to love. He felt that a restorative pot of Assam might be just the thing for Morgan—if he could wake her up, that is. He tightened the protective arm he’d wound round her waist.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” he said. She snored on. Overcome with fondness and Becks, he buried his face in her hair for a moment, sighing, and then shook her awake. “Come on,” he said. “Arthur’s been an idiot. Let’s go and drink some tea and bully him until he sorts himself out.”

When they got to the tea shop, however, Arthur was nowhere to be seen. Gwen sat in a corner, dabbing her eyes and nose with a hanky. Lance of the unfeasible good looks had an arm around one shoulder. Merrill sat on the other side of her, an uncharacteristic frown between his eyes.

Leon plonked Morgan down into a chair and asked Merrill if he could get some Assam and a plate of biscuits. The waiter didn’t say anything; he just stood up and gave Leon a tense nod. 

“What’s up?” he whispered when Merrill had left the table. “What’s the boy wonder done this time? Why does Merrill look like someone just killed his puppy?” 

Gwen sighed. “You know Arthur's exams finished yesterday?” she said in a shaky voice, looking round to check that Merrill couldn’t hear. “Well, he’s been celebrating in the usual way, which is fine, and I think he’d been working up his courage to ask Merrill out, and he’d had rather a lot to drink, and, well, I think he went about it in a rather unfortunate way, because when we came in here about half an hour ago, the two of them were shouting at each other. Arthur stormed out, threatening to go for a drive,” her breath hitched and her eyes filled with tears. “He threatened Lance,” she added, her lip wobbling and her voice squeaky, “he said unspeakable things about me.” She blew her nose loudly.

“M’ brother’s an arse,” slurred Morgan, giving Gwen’s hand a clumsy pat. “Y’ bettroff withoutim,” she added, eyes crossing as she evidently tried to focus. Merrill chose that moment to return with the tea and cookies. He set them out in silence.

Leon sighed and stood up. “You all right, mate?” he said softly to Merrill, putting a hand on his shoulder, leading him away from the others. “You seem a little… stressed?”

The sky outside suddenly went terribly dark, the bright sun blotted out by a monstrous thundercloud. Merrill’s lips were pressed together as if he was trying not to speak. He shook his head and his eyes started to fill. Leon could feel him trembling through his thin shirt. “Talk to me, mate,” said Leon. “What’s going on?”

Merrill shook his head. “Can’t,” he rasped. “Hurts.” He gulped a few times and looked away.

At that moment the door burst open. The bell let out a forlorn tinkle as Gavin strode in. Lance looked up, a hopeful expression in his eyes, but Gavin shook his head. “Can’t find him anywhere,” he said. “The stupid sod has gone for a drive.”

“How much has he had to drink, exactly?” Leon asked.

Gavin’s expression was grave. “Put it this way,” he said, “he’d make Morgan here look like she’d taken a vow of abstinence.”

“Oi!” Morgan protested. “M’ perfickly shober!”

Merrill buried his hands in his hair. “It’s all my fault,” he whispered, distraught. “This was exactly what I had to prevent happening, I got so close, and now I’ve screwed it up. Shit, shit, shit. Everything’s gone to shit.” His breath hitched.

Leon wondered what he meant. “What’s your fault?” he said. “You can’t blame yourself for Pentagon getting himself wankered and making a pass at you. Nor for him walking out in a strop. He’s perfectly capable of screwing things up all by himself.”

Merrill shook his head. “You don’t understand!” he said, fixing Leon in an intense gaze. “I didn’t turn him down. I said yes. And then I told him the truth about me, about who I am, about what I feel,” he was shouting now, “I told him the truth about it all, and he _remembered_ , all about me, and about Guinevere and Lancelot, and Morgana, and Mordred… and he couldn’t handle it, it was too fast. It’s my fault!”

His voice shook and his eyes seemed as if they were taking on a peculiar shade of gold - surely some trick of the light diffracted through his tears? And it all started to feel terribly familiar, somehow: Merrill’s concern for Arthur, the pinched, pale faces around him, Gwen’s tears, Morgan’s wild appearance.

Merrill was still talking. “Don’t you see? I thought I could stop him by explaining, but it was all too much, and now he’s going to have the accident, Kara will be killed, Moore will kill him when he finds out! I can’t reach him with my magic, he’s hidden to me. And I’ll lose him again!” Merrill swayed. “He’s a colossal prat, but he’s kind, and sort of noble, and he’s mine! I can’t lose him again, I just can’t…”

“Sit down, Merrill,” said Leon, taking charge.

Merrill sat down, leaning forward, head bowed, elbows on his knees, shoulders shaking. Leon didn’t really understand exactly what was going on, but he felt that there was something, buried deep in his memory. He was on the edge of seeing it but couldn’t, quite.

“It’s all true, you see,” Merrill carried on, looking up, his hair poking out in spikes where he’d threaded his hands through it, “I really am a time-traveller, and a warlock.” Lightning flashed outside. A sudden hissing sound heralded the arrival of a hailstorm.

“My name is Merlin,” he said, his eyes whirling blue-and-gold, voice deep and trembling, laden with despair. “I have magic. I am a warlock and a dragonlord. Arthur has returned. It is my duty to protect him, and I have failed yet again.”

Just then a flash of lightning lit up the room, and a crash of thunder came hard on its tail, making Leon jump. He blinked. He could have sworn that the silhouette of a dragon shadowed the window, starkly lit by the white-blue flash, but he rubbed his eyes and it was gone. He must have been imagining things. Or maybe Merrill was a hypnotist, and had conjured up the vision using suggestion.

As another peal of thunder rent the air, the door opened and a pale-skinned, white-haired girl dressed in white leather stepped into the tea shop, rain dripping from her saturated hair and clothes. Merrill rose to his feet, looking stunned. Leon's heart thundered in his chest, he couldn't say why, but she appeared almost unreal, so pale was she, highlighted against the darkened street. Steam rose from her clothes, filling the room with vapours and condensing on the window pane.

“Linda,” Merlin said, sounding shocked. “But how did you… and you haven’t even… when did you…?”

The girl’s lips curved up. “2014,” she said. “I have watched you and learned. I am Aethlinda now. I am fledged. I see many futures. and I have come to help.” She held out a hand. “Come, my master. Let us find your lost king and stop him before it is too late.”

She turned the gaze from her pale eyes upon every member of the group in turn. It lingered on Morgan like a caress, and her tongue briefly flicked out. “Mistress,” she whispered, with a sad smile. “I do this for you as much as for my master.” She stepped over to Morgan and knelt before her, nuzzling Morgan’s knee with her head, like a cat. Leon could feel heat radiating from Linda as if she was a furnace.

Morgan gently caressed her steaming head, looking stunned. “Aithusa?” she whispered, eyes round. And where had Leon heard that name before?

“Aethlinda now!” the girl replied. She stood, and stepped away from Morgan. “You will find me one day,” she said, “but first we must rescue your brother.” She strode out of the tea shop, grabbing Merrill’s hand, and banging the door shut. When the bell stopped jangling the shop suddenly felt very empty and quiet.

Leon, realising his mouth was wide open, snapped it shut.

Gavin cleared his throat. “Well,” he said with a cheeky smile, striding over to the cake counter. He carved himself a large slice of Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, and slathered it liberally with cream. “Don’t know about you lot, but I’m starving!” He fished into the cake and shovelled in a large mouthful, groaning theatrically. "Bloody hell," he said, voice muffled by moist dark cherry, "I don't know about the rest of it, but Merrill's a bloody magician when it comes to cakes." 

“I hope you’re going to pay for that,” said Leon.

“Don’t worry,” said Gavin. He smirked. “Arthur’ll pay.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can Merlin and Linda save Arthur and Kara?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He flinched, baring his teeth, and swerved into the path of an oncoming truck, hastily swinging back again in the nick of time. The truck’s horn blared out accusingly, note changing from major to minor when it thundered past. Arthur laughed with the sheer recklessness of it all. Jagged lightning flashed, and the water swirled around the wheels of his car. He laughed, and he wept, hardly able to see through his tears and the driving rain, hurtling along the country lane far too fast, rounding a bend. And there, too late, wiping his eyes, he saw, illuminated in the lightning, the bedraggled figure of a runner, purposeful despite the rain.
> 
> There was nowhere to go, he was going to hit her."

_Early the following morning_

_Somewhere near Cherry Hinton, Cambridgeshire. 1 st June 2004. 4.27 am._

Arthur fell asleep in his vintage Porsche, Excalibur, somewhere near Cherry Hinton, and woke up when the wan light started to filter through the windows. Hail drummed on the roof. He winced at the pain in his head, groped between his feet on the floor, swigged from the half-full bottle of Jack Daniels.

Then he started the engine and went for a drive.

He tried to make sense, through a fog of alcohol and confused feelings, of the muddled memories that had been reawakened by Merrill’s shocking words. Merrill? He supposed he should call him Merlin now. He remembered his death, the cold steel slicing through his ribs. The pain of Mordred’s betrayal, almost as strong as the pain from the wound in his side. The startling revelation about Merlin’s magic. His own initial hostility and gradual acceptance of it.

Merlin, Merrill. No wonder the connection between him and Arthur was so strong. It spanned centuries. Arthur’s lips tingled where Merrill, Merlin, had touched them with his finger before all the memories came flooding back.

He flinched, baring his teeth, and swerved into the path of an oncoming truck, hastily swinging back again in the nick of time. The truck’s horn blared out accusingly, note changing from major to minor when it thundered past. Arthur laughed with the sheer recklessness of it all. Jagged lightning flashed, and the water swirled around the wheels of his car. He laughed, and he wept, hardly able to see through his tears and the driving rain, hurtling along the country lane far too fast, rounding a bend. And there, too late, wiping his eyes, he saw, illuminated in the lightning, the bedraggled figure of a runner, purposeful despite the rain.

There was nowhere to go, he was going to hit her.

He panicked, hit the brakes and skidded, aquaplaning on the wet carriageway. He was going to hit her. He couldn’t stop.

But then something odd happened. Everything around him sped up, but his car seemed to slow to a crawl. The atmosphere shimmered oddly, and lightning bolts rained down, hundreds of flashes every second, but his surroundings moved at glacial speed. He saw a white shape dive from the sky incredibly fast, almost too fast to detect. He blinked.  The white shape was gone, and so was the runner.

The car slowed to an inexorable stop and he sat, hands shaking on the wheel, knuckles white, eyes staring.

The driver’s side door opened. Merlin was there, wet hair plastered to his head. He looked exhausted, his face pale and eyes sunken in the faint dawn light.

“Merlin,” said Arthur. His voice sounded like a croak.

Merlin reached across him, undid his seatbelt, and peeled Arthur’s white hands from the steering wheel. Merlin pulled Arthur up for a hug.

“Hush,” he said. Arthur hadn’t realised he was sobbing.

Arthur wrapped his arms round Merlin, buried his face in Merlin’s wet clothes, felt the warmth of his skin through the sodden fabric of his shirt. He remembered all the things that this man has ever meant to him, but suppressed the hundreds of questions running through his head.

“Merlin? What did you do?” he said instead.

Merlin let out a hollow chuckle. “I sped up time,” he said. “All around you, I sped up time. It must have seemed to you as if you were moving incredibly slowly. And then Linda pulled Kara to safety.”

A horn blared nearby as a car splashed past, making Arthur jump, and he realised that they were standing in the road with the door open. Merlin slammed the car door and pulled Arthur round to the passenger side. They stood outside on the grass verge for a moment, rain cascading in rivulets from their hair. Merlin cupped Arthur’s face in both his hands. “You idiot,” he whispered. “You utter, utter fucking prat. Never do that to me again.” His face was wet, eyes rimmed with red. He pulled Arthur’s face in closer, pressed Arthur’s lips to his own.

Arthur tasted salt, the rain mingling with Merlin’s tears. His arms snaked round Merlin’s waist and he pressed their bodies together, pushing Merlin up against the car. He moaned into Merlin’s mouth, pushed his knee between Merlin’s legs. He wanted to touch every inch of Merlin. It wasn’t enough; he needed to be closer, needed to feel Merlin everywhere. “Merlin,” he breathed, sharing Merlin’s air. “Fuck, Merlin, I’m so sorry,”

There was a cough by Arthur’s side and he looked up, surprised. It was Kara, with a white-haired girl he didn’t recognise by her side. Kara was shivering; her pupils were blown wide with shock.

Merlin pulled away again. Arthur was reluctant to let him go, but Merlin’s cold, wet hand lingered in his like a promise. He opened the passenger door and gestured towards the car, smiling at the two shivering women. Kara and the white-haired girl crammed themselves uncomfortably into the back, and Arthur sat in the passenger seat, a puddle forming at his feet.

Merlin trudged round to the driver’s side, got in and turned the key. The engine purred and the windscreen-wipers hissed.

“Lucky you have a vintage car, Arthur,” said Merlin. “These modern vehicles with all their electronics don’t work for me.” He flashed Arthur a blinding grin. The sun chose that moment to emerge from behind the doom-laden clouds, picking out the scattered raindrops on the car windows, which refracted the light into myriad colours like jewels. Arthur’s heart lifted. He like he’d escaped some terrible curse, through no efforts of his own.

He placed his hand on Merlin’s, which were poised to put the car into gear.

“Merlin,” he said, just to hear what it sounded like in his voice. When Merlin glanced at him, enquiringly, he rolled the name around his mouth again. “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin,” he said. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” Splinters of his fractured past were returning to him, and he was beginning to arrange them, piece them together like the shards of a shattered window pane.

Arthur glanced in the mirror where he could see Kara being comforted by the mystery girl, Linda. Linda was whispering into Kara’s ear. She looked up as if aware of Arthur’s eyes on her.

“Is she OK?” Arthur said.

Linda shook her head. “Shocked,” she said. “Her memory returns.”

Steam drifted up from her leather outfit, as if she was heating it from within. Arthur stared, fascinated.

Merlin shifted gears and they headed back to Cambridge.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Merlin and Arthur get it together. But why is Merlin in such a dreadful hurry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He gulped when Merlin backed him towards the counter and pressed their lips together in a desperate, messy kiss. Merlin wasn’t gentle. Although his lips were soft, his tongue was insistent, probing. Arthur held on to Merlin’s hair and responded in kind. Fire snaked out of his belly, coursing through his veins, visceral and irresistible. He pulled Merlin closer, closed his hands around the firm mounds of his buttocks, rubbed their crotches together so that the contact made his heart stutter and he couldn’t help letting out a moan of longing.

_A little later_

_Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. 8.15am._

“All right, Linda, thank you so much, now back you go,” said Merlin, hustling her into a white leather jacket. Everyone jumped when she suddenly winked out of existence. “Haven’t got time to explain, everyone, sorry. Here.” He tugged Morgan to her feet and thrust an envelope into her hands. “Read this. It’s got it all in.” She opened her mouth, as if to ask a question, but he carried on talking over her.

“Make sure Mordred gets the deeds,” he said. “Moore I mean. I’m giving him the tea shop. It was his mum’s, after all.” He spun Morgan round, pushed her into Leon’s arms, and then pressed a hand onto Leon’s back to steer them out through the door.

He seemed in a tearing hurry to herd everyone out of the tea shop, and Arthur wondered at his haste.

“Sorry, folks, but right now you need to leave,” he said, placing a blanket round Kara’s shivering shoulders and manhandling her towards the exit.

“Merlin, what’s going on?” said Gwen. “I’m happy to go, but what do you mean, Mordred gets the deeds? Are you leaving Cambridge? What’s happ…”

“What’s the big hurry?” Arthur said, when Merlin thrust Gwen’s coat and umbrella at her and practically shoved her through the door, still talking. He closed it behind her, locking it and turning the sign on the door to “closed”, and plastering his back to the door with a relieved sigh.

Merlin still looked manic. “We haven’t got much time,” he said, “and I need to talk to you, but first I need to do this.” He strode forward and grabbed Arthur round the waist. Arthur felt himself hardening. Despite his lack of sleep, the adrenaline, the JD, despite everything, his body responded to the slightest touch from Merlin.

He gulped when Merlin backed him towards the counter and pressed their lips together in a desperate, messy kiss. Merlin wasn’t gentle. Although his lips were soft, his tongue was insistent, probing. Arthur held on to Merlin’s hair and responded in kind. Fire snaked out of his belly, coursing through his veins, visceral and irresistible. He pulled Merlin closer, closed his hands around the firm mounds of his buttocks, rubbed their crotches together so that the contact made his heart stutter and he couldn’t help letting out a moan of longing.

“Arthur,” said Merlin, breaking away, his voice half way between a laugh and a sob. “God. Arthur. You don’t know how long I have waited for this. But we have to talk. Please, come to my room upstairs. We’ve got an audience.” 

He gestured at the window where enquiring customers were peering through, wondering when the tea shop was going to open. Arthur barked out a surprised laugh and was rewarded by a crinkly-eyed grin from Merlin. He was tempted to say “fuck it, let’s put on a show for the nosy bastards,” but found his pulse quickening at the thought of being alone with Merlin.

“We don’t have much time,” said Merlin, pulling him close for another kiss when they entered the tiny upstairs bedroom. “I have to tell you something.” He gently released his hold and fetched an ordinary-looking envelope with a date and time on it.

“I don’t belong here, Arthur,” said Merlin, handing him the envelope with a solemn expression on his face. “Some time in the next hour or so I will wink out of existence, and I’ll be transported back to London in 2014. Believe me when I say I don’t want to leave you. I swear. God. Arthur, I want you so much. But soon I’ll be gone. That’s what I mean when I say time’s running out.”

Arthur felt suddenly cold, despite his arousal and burning desire, and he shivered.

“So soon?” he whispered, touching Merlin’s cheek with his own so that their stubble rubbed, raw and tender. “But I only just found you, Merlin.” His throat felt tight with the injustice.

Merlin’s eyes filled with tears when he nodded.

“Come and find me,” he said, his voice tremulous, mouth turned down. “Come and find me in London. Not now, not next week, you have to wait, Arthur. I’m so sorry. You have to wait. God knows, I know it won’t be easy…” He faltered for a moment and Arthur remembered how long Merlin had been waiting.

Merlin swallowed, jaw set firm. “This envelope contains the details of my last jump, the one I made to be with you today. Please, after the date on this envelope, please come to me, come and find me. Please, Arthur.”

He sounded so lost.

Arthur nodded. He couldn’t refuse Merlin anything. Merlin’s lips were dark and full when he spoke, his intent voice sparking the desire in Arthur’s loins. Arthur’s body thrilled at it. He wanted to fall to his knees and drink Merlin in. Merlin could be reciting the shipping forecast and he would have the same effect.

“The clock is ticking,” he was saying, “But we have now.” Merlin’s hands burrowed under Arthur’s clothes. Merlin hissed at the contact, Arthur’s skin juddered. “So hot,” Merlin said, voice faltering. His lips brushed Arthur’s and he moaned into Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur had never felt an attraction this intense, had not known it was possible for someone’s touch to raise maddening tingles along his skin, to ignite his lust with a single word, a breath.

He pushed Merlin against the door, lips and tongues meshed together. He tugged at Merlin’s shirt to gain better access to that pale, firm skin. Groaning in pleasure when Merlin grasped his buttocks, he pulled him in, grinding their groins together as they kissed.

His shirt was off now. Merlin’s breath ghosted across his chest in tiny gasps as he mouthed Arthur’s nipples, tongued his navel.

Hard and straining against the fabric of his jeans, he moaned when Merlin fumbled to release his belt. He bent, grasped Merlin under the arms and pulled Merlin to his feet, then lifted him so that his legs snaked round his waist. Arthur walked him to the bed and settled him on it.

“Driving me crazy, Merlin,” he said, “with your magic fingers and tongue. I want you so much. All of you. I want to dive in and drown. I’ve never wanted anyone like this. Let me… please… aaaah…” he leaned forwards and pressed their crotches together with a deep sigh.

Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed and his neck arched into Arthur’s hungry mouth.

“God, Arthur, yeah, please.” He said. He sounded as wrecked as Arthur felt. His words, the tone of his voice conjured a ball of desire, a knot of agonised need in Arthur’s gut. Merlin ran a long finger down Arthur’s jaw. Arthur felt like purring at that touch. “I am clean. And immortal. You can’t hurt me, and I can’t hurt you.”

“Lube?” he said falteringly.

Merlin flashed him a grin and his eyes glowed gold for a moment. “Don’t need it. Just get in me, Arthur. I want to feel you sliding inside me. We don’t have time to prep. Just…. Please...God, I need you inside me, now Arthur. Don’t be gentle. I can take it.”  Merlin was thrashing about under Arthur’s weight, in a desperate attempt to get his own trousers off. Arthur’s pulse was singing in his ears, his cock painting wet spots inside his pants.

The sensation as he slid into Merlin was of intense sweetness. He could hardly bear the heat.

Merlin cried out.

“All right?” said Arthur, stopping, heart thudding.

“God, yes, don’t stop. Just. _Arthur_.”

Arthur gently put a pillow under Merlin’s hips, and pressed all the way in. Then, propped on one hand, the other splayed on Merlin’s chest, he began to pull and thrust in time to the inner rhythm of his heart. 

Merlin shivered and trembled beneath him, strung out, tense and quivering. So close. So close. His pale skin was drawn tautly round the lines and angles of his neck. Moaning, lips apart, eyes closed, neck exposed, Merlin’s beauty, his strength and vulnerability took Arthur’s breath away. He wanted this moment of complete surrender to last forever. There was nothing, no-one more perfect in this world.

Fighting to still the tremor in his thighs, Arthur shook with it, So close, so close. He wrapped his free hand round Merlin’s prick. “Come for me Merlin,” he breathed, pulling and twisting gently.

Merlin’s eyes flew open, glowing gold. “Arthur,” he gasped, scrabbling at the bedclothes with his hands, clenching and squeezing around him. Merlin juddered in his hand. Wet heat mingled with a warm, musky scent spurted through Arthur’s fingers onto Merlin’s belly. So good, so good.

As Arthur's pleasure built, their eyes locked, a sweet tension growing in his core and flooding his muscles so that he cried out with the joy of it. His seed pulsed into Merlin, filling him, claiming him. Arthur pushed and crowded as deeply into Merlin as he could fit, pressing as far as he could go. This was his home, his belonging, his rapture; he had never felt so bound to another.

“Merlin,” he breathed in wonder.

For a long time while he lay listening to the frantic thud-thud- of Merlin’s heart, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

He noticed a subtle change in Merlin’s breathing and lifted his head. Merlin was staring at him, biting his lip.

“Come and find me, Arthur?”  he said. He caressed Arthur’s head. “Promise me you will come and find me. In 2014. Promise?”

“I promise,” said Arthur. He would do anything. Merlin was _his_. He’d marked him now.

Merlin nodded, smiling gently, his hand still in Arthur’s hair.

 But then his expression changed. “No,” he said, “No, not now, it’s too soon! I don’t want to go yet…”

His back arched. He cried out, as if in pain, and with a faint “pop”, Merlin winked out of existence.

Arthur was alone.

“Merlin?” he said, and then with a rising sense of panic, more loudly. “Merlin? Come back!” He padded over to the door and pounded on it, heart thundering. “Merlin!” he yelled.

The muted sounds of King’s Parade filtered gently through the windowpane., but there was otherwise no reply. He shivered in fear and loss.

“No!” he whispered, remembering what Merlin had said. He understood now Merlin’s earlier frantic haste.

The air felt suddenly cold against his naked skin. Merlin’s clothes lay scattered about. Tears pricked his eyes. He felt wrung out. Empty. Bereft. Trembling, he fell back onto the bed. He hugged the covers, Merlin’s discarded clothes to himself, and breathed in the sweet, masculine scent of their mingled heat and desire.

To find and lose Merlin so abruptly felt so unfair. It felt so wrong to be alone among the cooling covers. The universe must hate him.

Time passed. He couldn’t say how long.

After a while, he picked up the envelope Merlin had given him. It lay, on the floor, discarded and forgotten in the heat of their passion. The date on it was August 1st 2014.

Ten years in the future.

Ten minutes would be hard. Ten hours would be painful. Ten days would be torture. But ten years? Ten years without Merlin? How would Arthur manage without those smiles to warm him on cold days, and oh God, that sparkling touch that sent chills racing up his spine? It was wrong for them to be apart, just wrong. His eyes blurred so that he could no longer see the words.

“Merlin,” he whispered, heartbroken. “Merlin, you complete bastard.”

He felt so wretched, angry and hurt. Merlin, the selfish git, had claimed Arthur, possessing him so thoroughly that he would never recover, sucking him in, opening up and welcoming him into a glorious and irrevocable bond.

And then he vanished without warning.

He hated Merlin so much.

Screwing up his face into a mask of pain, he swept his hand across the nightstand, smashing half-filled glasses and cheap alarm clock onto the floor in a tangled heap, and roared. Then he curled up into a ball and cried like a baby.

Eventually, he dried his eyes and picked up his phone.

“Morgan?” he said, voice still shaking.

But it was Leon’s voice he heard. “Arthur, are you OK?”

“No. I mean yeah, but Merlin’s – Merrill’s – shit, this is so confusing.”

“She’s asleep at the moment, mate,” said Leon, and a tiny bit of Arthur must still be functioning all right, because it was jumping to all sorts of conclusions about Leon and Morgan, and trying to blurt them out to him through the fog of grief and pain. “I’ll pop round,” Leon added. “You sound like you could use a mate.”

“Thanks,” said Arthur.

He swallowed his anger and talked himself down. It wasn’t Merlin’s fault. The wait would hurt, so much, but the hope of seeing Merlin, being with Merlin at the end of it would have to be enough. There was no other choice.

Because, after what they had just shared, he couldn’t imagine touching anyone else in the same way.

He sighed and started to clear up the room. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin waits. Has he averted Albion's crisis? And will Arthur still want him after ten years?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t bear it if he had failed again. After the years of agonised waiting, he wouldn’t have a clue what to do if he’d managed to screw it all up. He was worried sick – worried about all his friends. They had been so vividly like their ancient counterparts; he had grown to love them all, even poor, brittle Mordred. He sat biting his nails, grinding his teeth, making cup after cup of weak Earl Grey to calm his shredded nerves. But a hard, brutal, golf-ball-sized lump had wedged itself into his throat, and no amount of Earl Grey would dislodge it.

_Later that day – and also ten years later._

_Flat above Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. 1 st August 2014. 11.45 am._

Merlin really didn’t have any idea whether he had succeeded in averting Albion’s crisis or not.

He was afraid to find out, to look at the newspapers, to go out into the street and see whether his beloved Clerkenwell environment was better or worse than before. In case he had failed again.

He couldn’t bear it if he had failed again. After the years of agonised waiting, he wouldn’t have a clue what to do if he’d managed to screw it all up. He was worried sick – worried about all his friends. They had been so vividly like their ancient counterparts; he had grown to love them all, even poor, brittle Mordred. He sat biting his nails, grinding his teeth, making cup after cup of weak Earl Grey to calm his shredded nerves. But a hard, brutal, golf-ball-sized lump had wedged itself into his throat, and no amount of Earl Grey would dislodge it.

Most of all he was worried that Arthur would not come for him, would have forgotten about him, or would not want him any more.

He had grown accustomed to waiting for Arthur, before. But somehow the hours since he popped back into existence, naked and cold, in his London flat, seemed more agonising than in the centuries past. Now he was sitting, listening to the clock chime out a quarter-hour, his jaw set on edge by the sound.

His skin bore the marks of the morning’s frantic lovemaking. He never wanted them to fade, never wanted Arthur’s seed to stop seeping out of him, like a memory and a caress. Aching with the marks of Arthur’s love, he felt used and sore, and wished with all his heart to be repeating the experience right here and now.

He had no choice but to wait.

Free at last, Linda left hours ago, and was no doubt testing her new-found wings with an ecstatic Drake. Guy was at the hospice, hooked up to machines. Knowing that Guy would not be writing any more time-travel dockets, Merlin sighed and fingered the last one.

He was alone again. He hated being alone. All he had left was hope; he’d played out all his cards.

He sat and listened out for the doorbell. Time passed, marked by the chimes of the clock.

He must have dozed off, because he nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang. Opening the door, his heart thudded when he saw Mordred standing there, flanked by two large, menacing-looking flunkies, as before. Merlin was struck by a sudden sense of déjà vu. But Mordred’s expression was far from stern, and his eyes were twinkling with delight.

“Merlin!” he said, with a joyful smile, “Or should I say Emrys?” His laugh was unforced as he stepped forward and enfolded Merlin in an enthusiastic hug. Puzzled, Merlin patted him tentatively on the shoulders.

“Mordred,” he said. “Erm. This is. Well. Unexpected. Good, though.”

Mordred stepped out of the hug, laughing at his confusion. “The Prime Minister is waiting for you,” he said, grasping Merlin’s upper arms.

Merlin’s breath stuttered. So Mordred was not Prime Minister in this timeline. Interesting.  He tried to quell the sudden hope blooming in his chest. His heart jumped and thudded. Mordred signalled, beckoning, indicating that he should step outside. When Merlin stepped out into the grey dawn, he saw three limousines with blackened windows parked on his tiny Clerkenwell street. Mordred filled the air with chatter.

“Here we go. The PM’s in the second car, and looking forward to seeing you, obviously. It’s been quite a wait, ten years since any of us has seen you. We all kept away as you asked. Don’t want to upset the timeline, haha.”

Merlin was completely unsettled by this curiously convivial incarnation of Morded. He didn’t dare give voice to his hopes about the identity of the person in the second limo. As he stepped forward, his legs wobbled a bit.  He pressed his hand to his heart, as if to stop it from racing.

“Hopefully we got the date right,” Mordred said. “We’ve been busy anyway, as you no doubt know. I’m delighted about the progress of my wind turbines!” Merlin suddenly realised that the London skyline looked different; looking up, it took him a moment to work out that a forest of helical wind turbines arose from virtually every roof, in the same way that TV aerials had years ago.

His face split in a wondrous grin. “That was you?” he said.

Mordred nodded, proudly. “It’s my finest achievement as Minister for Energy and the Environment. But you knew that?”

Merlin shook his head. “Sorry, I’m a bit behind the times.” He winced at the unintended pun.

“I worked out the science behind them while I was studying for my Ph.D,” said Mordred. “We funded it with the profits from selling the tea shop. But we all worked at it together, really. It was a real team effort, and ready at just the right time. I reckon that’s why the Green party got elected last year.”

Merlin swallowed as the door of the second limo began to open.

“So,” he said, trying to make sense of this. “By a team effort, you mean who, precisely?”

So loud was the thudding pulse in his ears, he could hardly hear a thing. He was poised between hope and dread. Who was the Prime Minister? Could it be Arthur? How would he feel about Merlin? Ten years was a long time. He thrust his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking, and took a couple of deep breaths.

“Well, me and Kara of course. As for the others… well, you’ll see,” said Mordred, smiling and opening the limo door. An elegantly clad leg descended.  “Ah!” he added, with a delighted smile. “Prime Minister!”

The Prime Minister stepped out and Merlin could hardly believe his eyes. He barked out a triumphant laugh.

“Prime Minister Pentagon,” he echoed, stepping forward, eyes blurring a little “I’m so honoured, and so proud.”

When he wrapped his arms round an immaculately clad Morgan Pentagon, her face was wreathed in smiles.

“Merrill, or should I say Merlin?” she said. “We all have so much to thank you for! I hope you like what we have achieved since we last spoke.”

Pulling away from the embrace, because his tears were threatening to spill onto her impeccable jacket, he swallowed away the lump at his throat, but couldn’t utter another word. She smiled reassuringly at him and ducked her head back inside the car.

“Leon, my darling.” Merlin allowed himself a small, triumphant smile when he saw the wedding band displayed on her left hand. “Can you please see if the Chancellor is ready yet?”

Merlin peered round her and waved at Leon, who was talking into what looked like a tiny, solar-powered mobile phone. Leon smiled and waved back. Morgan sat back inside the car.

“We’ll be off now,” she said. “The Chancellor of the Exchequer would like to talk to you. In private. He’s been waiting for a long time.” As if to emphasize her words, the third and final limo crowding the narrow street beeped imperiously.

Morgan laughed. “I think he’s losing patience,” she said. “It never was his strongest asset.”

Mordred waved and got back into the first car. The front part of the cavalcade drove off, and Merlin was astonished at how quiet it was. He wondered for a moment if the Green party had invented a pedal-powered limo, and giggled to himself at the mental image that afforded him, of the PM and her aides industriously propelling the vehicle with their legs. But when he looked closely he could see what looked like a solar panel on each roof.

The third limo rolled to a stop, and so did his heart when Arthur stepped out. Merlin clutched onto the railing outside the tea shop for support. Sometimes, at times like this, when Arthur stood before him wreathed in power and majesty, sometimes Merlin found it hard to believe that it was he, and not Arthur, who had the magic. It must be something magical, this ability to fuse Merlin’s feet to the ground, to melt his spine and set fires blooming on his skin.

He looked a little older. _More mature_ , Merlin corrected himself. His eyes were serious, shoulders set back, mouth set in a slightly off-centre pout. He wore a suit and tie, but otherwise looked as he had when he had ruled Camelot. His King. Merlin’s throat was tight and his eyes blurred. He felt scruffy and underdressed.

They locked eyes. When Arthur gave him a pure, uncomplicated, joyful smile, it was a thing of indescribable beauty.

“Merlin!” he said. His voice was deeper, richer; it rolled round Merlin like a caress and warmed his bones.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “You came.”

Arthur stepped into his space, reached for his arms and grasped them. Merlin leaned forwards so that their foreheads were firmly pressed together. Arthur let out a breath that was half sob, half gasp, and put an arm round his waist to pull him in for a hug.

Merlin turned his head so that the tears would not show. He swallowed and tried to still his breathing, basking in the warmth that drenched him.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmured into his hair, arms warm and tight round Merlin’s shaking shoulders. “Merlin, it’s all right, I’m here now. I’ve got you.” His voice sounded thick, as if he was having problems with throat lumps as well.

 _Maybe there’s a virus,_ thought Merlin inconsequentially. _A mystical throat-lump virus, which only impacts lovers who have been separated for too long._ He fought down a hysterical sob.

At the edge of consciousness, he was vaguely aware of the limo, quietly rolling away, until the two of them were alone in that sun-drenched Clerkenwell street. Merlin drank in Arthur’s scent, his solidity, his presence, and choked out Arthur’s name repeatedly for what seemed like hours.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” said Arthur eventually, smiling.

Merlin let out a watery laugh. “Welcome to my humble abode, sire,” he said, pointing a shaky hand at the anonymous-looking door to the flat above the tea-shop. “Pray enter.”

“I’ve been here before, remember?” said Arthur. “It seems smaller, now, somehow.” He smiled at the memory, and then his face fell serious. He sent a penetrating glance at Merlin that made him shiver.

Merlin tugged Arthur’s hands, pulled him into the doorway and dipped his head to devour Arthur’s mouth with his own. Arthur moaned. The noise clawed at Merlin’s gut, drawing a breathless groan from him in reply.

He had no idea how they got upstairs and into his tiny bedroom, only that the urgency that grasped him appeared to be nothing compared to Arthur’s. As soon as they were inside, Arthur crowded against him, gripping his hip so hard that Merlin thought, _hoped_ , he would leave more bruises. Arthur pressed his bulk in close, and exhaled against Merlin’s neck with a sort of breathy moan that made Merlin ache with want.

“Merlin, God, I wanted this so much, it nearly killed me,” Arthur said. “All that waiting. Missing your touch. I could have died, Merlin, and it would have been your fault.”

Insistent hands burrowed under Merlin’s shirt as Arthur gasped, “God, your skin. So hot, it makes my fingers tingle. Drove me crazy, thinking about this, knowing I couldn’t have it.”

“Arthur…”

“Shh, Merlin, God, got to have you, say you will do it, I can’t... please Merlin.”

“Arthur, yes, please, God, yes, whatever you want. I’m yours, Arthur, please.” Arthur was shaking under his hands, juddering and tense, muscles bunched as if ready for battle.

“Want to fuck you, Merlin, because, Jesus, it’s been ten years, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it for one moment, what you felt like, what it felt like to touch you inside, and I can’t… I’ve got to… Merlin, please.” Arthur stopped talking to claim his mouth again, nipping and licking frantically at Merlin’s lips. He slid his hot tongue into Merlin’s mouth and they moaned and ground against one another. The feeling of Arthur’s hard cock grinding against his own was better than magic.

Merlin fumbled at Arthur’s belt, releasing him from his trousers, tugging them down so that they were bunched up round his ankles. He backed up against the bed in an undignified shuffle, fumbling at his own trousers and pants, kicking them off until he was naked apart from his shirt and socks, prick jutting out.

“Just fuck me,” he panted, so hard, so desperate. “Just fucking fill me up, Arthur.”

Turning Merlin round, Arthur bent him over the bed so that the flesh of his arse was exposed, and gently prised his buttocks apart. Merlin could hear Arthur’s hard, guttural breaths as his fingers pressed inside him, first one and then another. 

“Shit, Merlin,” said Arthur, and voice shaking. “You’re still full of my seed. Oh, my God.” He sounded wrecked. Merlin whined, bereft, when he felt Arthur’s fingers withdraw.

“Sshh,” said Arthur, breathing harshly, fingers gentling Merlin’s hair. The other hand was steady on his hip. He stilled as he felt something blunt and hot nuzzle at him.

Merlin was breathing hard, now, mouth open, arms and face buried in fragrant, new-washed bedclothes, bent at the waist. He whimpered at the tight sensation of Arthur’s thick cock slipping inside him, strong and purposeful, filling him up with his love.

“OK?” said Arthur, hearing him and slowing.

“Yes, God, just keep moving, Arthur, I’m fine.” He bent his knees slightly to accommodate the girth. “I was made for this, made for you, you won’t break me, I swear, just fuck me Arthur, God, I need it, need you,” he gabbled, voice muffled by the duvet.

Arthur drew a juddery breath and inched back, then slowly slid inside.

"God, so hot, Merlin, aaah, missed you, needed you so much. Needed to feel you. Needed this." His words wrapped themselves round Merlin's heart and caressed it.

Merlin grasped the bedclothes, bunching them in his fists, legs trembling.  He pushed back with his hips, forcing Arthur in deeper. He could feel Arthur’s cock dragging at his insides, stroking his sweet inner spot so that he was mad with the sensation, rutting vainly into the air. When Arthur reached round him to grab his prick, he couldn’t help crying out. It felt so good to have Arthur’s hand on him, Arthur’s strong arms holding him, his hips thrusting into him, until he didn’t know where he ended and Arthur began.

He wanted to tell Arthur how good he was for Merlin, how amazing he felt, how he wanted to feel Arthur deep inside him, around him, along him, forever.

“Good, so good, ah, ah,” he started, between pants, but then he wailed, all speech forgotten, as his orgasm coursed sweetly through him. He came in thick spurts through Arthur’s grip onto the bed, the smell of sex mingling with the scent of clean laundry, buttocks tensing around Arthur. Arthur fucked him through it, groaning and murmuring his name, his hand hot and wet on Merlin’s hip. Arthur shuddered then, and stilled, slumping on top of Merlin in a dead weight for a moment or two.

Just when Merlin thought his trembling legs would collapse under their combined weights, Arthur slid out, and Merlin grimaced a little at the suddenly-cold suddenly-empty sensation. He slumped onto the floor, on hands and knees, and then turned, sitting.

Arthur was the first to giggle at the sight of Merlin, fucked out, hair in disarray, dressed only in socks and a come-stained t-shirt. Merlin punched him drowsily on the lower leg, and then started to chuckle.  Still only naked from waist to ankle, Arthur fell onto the bed, and Merlin staggered up to join him. They snuggled together, entangled, giggling and nuzzling while their heart rates slowed.

Merlin supposed there would be a lot to think about, later, what with all the changes to the timeline, and the small matter of governance of the country. But for now he was content that, at long last, he had his King, his friend, his love, _alive and breathing_ , in his arms where he belonged. 


	23. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All about the wonderful, curmudgeonly, generous, wise man that Merlin will miss forever; his long-suffering friend Guy.

Guy gave up his personal struggle with cancer on a grey day in late October. He’d left the hospice a few days ago, and was back in the tiny spare room at Cups and Saucerers, where Merlin could care for him without fancy electronics.

At the last his odd-little grieving family was with him: the warlock, the Chancellor and two dragons in human form, one of whom was carrying her first egg.

Merlin would mourn his irascible friend forever. Guy had stopped suffering, but Merlin would not.

His funeral was quiet and private, but well attended. The undertakers were a little surprised at the hefty behind-the-scenes security—at least until the final car in the cortege drew up, and the Prime Minister, the Minister for Energy, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer got out, grave-faced.

The epitaph on Guy’s tombstone read “Thought is Free.”

A few weeks later, on Monday 3rd November at 11.32 a.m., Merlin and Arthur were sitting together drinking lapsang souchong and eating coffee-and-walnut cake. Merlin was wearing a t-shirt that echoed Guy’s epitaph. He was fingering an envelope which said, in spidery handwriting:

 _“Time of jump: Monday 3_ _nd_ _November, 2014, 12.02pm”_  

“It’s the last one,” Merlin said.

They locked eyes for a moment and then Merlin slashed into the envelope. His eyes widened when he read the contents. He passed it across the table to Arthur.

“I won’t be long,” said Merlin. “It seems I have a Coalport China teapot to save.”

They exchanged sad smiles. They both knew that the teapot was the least important reason for the jump.

“It’ll be the last time you see him,” said Arthur. “Be sure to make it count. And to come back to me afterwards. C’mere.” He messed up Merlin’s hair. “OK, you can go now.”

~end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much lovely readers for joining me on this whimsical time-travel journey. It's so great to finally finish off this story. I hope you have enjoyed it. If you have, then it would be wonderful if you could take time to let me know. 
> 
> Especial thanks to archaeologist_d for offering to beta this fic, for helping me to make it so much better, and for patiently taking on all my distracting side projects whilst waiting for me to get round to finishing this one.


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